Poems about Christmas poems

There is something about Christmas, In Santa Claus and twinkling trees, In the joy and laughter of every child, People kneeling in prayer on arthritic knees.There is something about Christmas, T

Christmas time is getting nearI don't have much Christmas cheerPain from the past much on my mindTo all my loved ones, I'll be kindThinking about those, I lost in the pastWanting this to be over,

The greatest gift of God to man is Christ! The love for creature man that God displayed; Born in a manger of Virgin Mary, By the power of the Holy Spirit, To redeem mankind from the wages of sin,

Christmas roses white as milk, Petals soft, and smooth as silk, Adding charm to Christmas Fare Your beauty is beyond compare. Christmas roses sweet and white Look exquisite by candlelight. Stan

Just once before I die I wouldso love to see a lot of smiling faces,each morning when I board the city bus.Mind you, there is no pressing needfor outright reverence or admiration.I am comp

IT was the calm and silent night! Seven hundred years and fifty-three Had Rome been growing up to might, And now was Queen of land and sea. No sound was heard of clashing wars; Peace brood

’T IS Christmas, and the North wind blows; ’t was two years yesterday Since from the Lusitania’s bows I looked o’er Table Bay, A tripper round the narrow world, a pilgrim of the main, Ex

Christmas is so merry, at this special time of yearChristmas is extraordinary, as long as you are hereInside my heart I’ll jump and dance, excited just to seeThe sparkling beauty in your glance,

Hark! the herald Angels sing, Glory to the new-born King, Peace on earth and mercy mild, God and sinner reconcil'd. Hark! the herald Angels sing, Glory to the new-born King. Joyf

Alone--with one fair star for company, The loveliest star among the hosts of night, While the grey tide ebbs with the ebbing light-- I pace along the darkening wintry sea. Now round the yule-log a

Once again it's Christmas Time, time for us to be, Busy wrapping presents and setting up the tree. It seems we have so many things, to think of and to do, We may forget that Christmas, has a de

You were never told, Mother, how old Illyawas drunkThat last holiday, for five days and nightsHe stumbled through Petersburg formingA choir of mutes, he dressed them in pink ascension gownsAnd,