This most tremendous tale of all.
Seen in a stained glass window's hue
A baby, in an ox's stall.
The maker of the stars and sea,
Became a child on earth, for me?
And is it true?
For if it is, no loving fingers tying strings
Around those tissued fripperies, the sweet and silly Christmas things
Bath salts, and inexpensive scent
And hideous tie, so kindly meant.
No love that in a family dwells
No carolling in frosty air
Nor all the steeple-shaking bells
Can with this simple truth compare:
That God was man in Palestine
And lives today, in bread and wine."
- Betjemann
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