Merry Christmas from the Byron Herbert Reece Society!

When I Think of Christmas Time

When I think of Christmas time
It’s not candlestick nor chime,
It’s not of bells nor mistletoe;
It’s of a Babe born long ago.

And when about a child I think
It’s not of heir to princely rank
All richly wrapped and rocked with awe,
But it’s of Christ whose crib was straw.

And when to Christ I turn my mind
I do not think how He was kind;
I think of sore wounds in His side,
I think how on the cross He died.

And when I think about His death
The very thought alarms my breath, 
Not that He died the death of men,
But that I slew Him with my sin.

And when I think that it was I
Who raised the cross on Calvary:
My tears like salty rivers run
For Christ my Lord to hanged thereon.

And when my Lord beholds my tears
He speaks to quiet me of my fears:
How is it thou has slain Me, say,
Who am but born this Christmas day?

Who am but born at morning-shine
In they own heart’s Palestine - 
Born to suffer and be tried
Before the Pilate of thy pride -

Born to sweat in agony
In thy soul’s Gethsemane - 
Born, between a loun and thief,
To hang upon thy unbelief?

Thou unto My tomb shall come 
In thy faith’s Jerusalem
And behold it bare, and fine
Easter breaking in they mind.

Therefore let My Birthday be
A time of joyful jubilee.
With the Host hosannas sing;
I am born anew to be thy King

On Christmas day,

On Christmas day,

On Christmas day in the morning.

A Song of Joy © 1952