At Christmas

 

At Christmas

A man is at his finest

     towards the finish of the year;

He is almost what he should be

     when the Christmas season is here;

Then he's thinking more of others

     than he's thought the months before,

And the laughter of his children

     is a joy worth toiling for.

He is less a selfish creature than

     at any other time;

When the Christmas spirit rules him

     he comes close to the sublime.

 

When it's Christmas man is bigger

     and is better in his part;

He is keener for the service

     that is prompted by the heart.

All the petty thoughts and narrow

     seem to vanish for awhile

And the true reward he's seeking

     is the glory of a smile.

Then for others he is toiling and

     somehow it seems to me

That at Christmas he is almost

     what God wanted him to be.

 

If I had to paint a picture of a man

     I think I'd wait

Till he'd fought his selfish battles

     and had put aside his hate.

I'd not catch him at his labors

     when his thoughts are all of pelf,

On the long days and the dreary

     when he's striving for himself.

I'd not take him when he's sneering,

     when he's scornful or depressed,

But I'd look for him at Christmas

     when he's shining at his best.

 

Man is ever in a struggle

     and he's oft misunderstood;

There are days the worst that's in him

     is the master of the good,

But at Christmas kindness rules him

     and he puts himself aside

And his petty hates are vanquished

     and his heart is opened wide.

Oh, I don't know how to say it,

     but somehow it seems to me

That at Christmas man is almost

     what God sent him here to be.

 

Edgar Albert Guest (1881 –  1959) was a British-born American poet who became known as the People's Poet.  His poems often had an inspirational and optimistic view of everyday life.