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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=374007" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Christmas Hymn</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">O CHRIST, born on the holy day, <br>I have no gift to give my King; <br>No flowers grow by my weary way; <br>I have no birthday song to sing. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>How can I sing Thy name and praise, <br>Who never saw Thy face divine; <br>Who walk in darkness all my days, <br>And see no Eastern stars a-shine? </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Yet, when their Christmas gifts they bring, <br>How can I leave Thy praise unsung? <br>How stay from homage to the King, <br>And hold a silent, grudging tongue? </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Lord, I found many a song to sing, <br>And many a humble hymn of praise <br>For Thy great Miracle of Spring, <br>The wonder of the waxing days. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>When I beheld Thy days and years, <br>Did I not sing Thy pleasant earth? <br>The moons of love, the years of tears, <br>The mysteries of death and birth? </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Have I not sung with all my soul <br>While soul and song were mine to yield, <br>Thy lightning crown, Thy cloud-control, <br>The dewy clover of Thy field? </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Have I not loved Thy birds and beasts, <br>Thy streams and woods, Thy sun and shade; <br>Have I not made me holy feasts <br>Of all the beauty Thou hast made? </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>What though my tear-tired eyes, alas! <br>Won never grace Thy face to see? <br>I heard Thy footstep on the grass, <br>Thy voice in every wind-blown tree. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>No music now I make or win, <br>Yet, Lord, remember I have been <br>The lover of Thy world, wherein <br>I found nought common or unclean. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Grown old and blind, I sing no more, <br>Thy saints in heaven sing sweet and strong, <br>Yet take the songs I made of yore <br>For echoes to Thy birthday song.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Edith+Nesbit">Edith Nesbit</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=374007" data-title="Christmas Hymn de Edith Nesbit" data-description="O CHRIST, born on the holy day, 
I have no gift to give my King; 
No flowers grow by my weary way; 
I have no birthday song to sing. 


How can I sing Thy name and praise, 
Who never saw Thy face divine; 
Who walk in darkness all my days, 
And see..."></div>
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