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How could she know as she tickled his fingers and counted them, one to ten.

The things they would do, in a few short years, to bless the lives of men?

The angel had told of His deity and His part in God's sacred plan.

But she couldn't know just where He would go or what He would do with those hands.

As a boy in Joseph's carpenter shop, they would use a hammer and saw.

Then on the shores of Galilee, break bread as He taught God's law.

How many times from cradle to cross would those hands change the lives of men.

As He healed from the bed and raised from the dead and forgave them, time and again.

He would use His grown up hands to pull a child to His knee.

Fingers would wipe a tear from an eye, apply mud so a man could see.

Those hands would be clasped in tearful prayer in Gethsemane's Garden, alone.

Then nailed to a cross on Calvary's Hill, His endless love to show.

To save us from death, He'd give His life. His innocent blood would spill.

He would cross the veil to His father's arms, His part in the plan fulfilled.

At Christmas time and all year through, remember who set us free.

With broken heart and outstretched hands, He bids us, "Come to me."


(Copied by permission)

ON GOING HOME FOR CHRISTMAS
by Edgar A. Guest

He little knew the sorrow that was in his vacant
chair;
He never guessed they'd miss him, or he'd
surely have been there;
He couldn't see his mother or the lump that
filled her throat,
Or the tears that started falling as she read
his hasty note;
And he couldn't see his father, sitting sor-
rowful and dumb,
Or he never would have written that he thought
he couldn't come.

He little knew the gladness that his presence
would have made,
And the joy it would have given, or he never
would have stayed.
He didn't know how hungry had the little
mother grown
Once again to see her baby and to claim him
for her own.
He didn't guess the meaning of his visit
Christmas Day
Or he never would have written that he
couldn't get away.

He couldn't see the fading of the cheeks that
once were pink,
And the silver in the tresses; and he didn't
stop to think
How the years are passing swiftly, and next
Christmas it might be
There would be no home to visit and no mother
dear to see.
He didn't think about it -- I'll not say he didn't
care.
He was heedless and forgetful or he'd surely
have been there.

Are you going home for Christmas? Have you
written you'll be there?
Going home to kiss the mother and to show
her that you care?
Going home to greet the father in a way to
make him glad?
If you're not I hope there'll never come a time
you'll wish you had.
Just sit down and write a letter -- it will make
their heart strings hum
With a tune of perfect gladness -- if you'll tell
them that you'll come.

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The following poem speaks of a good friend at Christmas time and should be a reminder that Jesus Christ is our Greatest friend; He is the kind of friend we should become.

A FRIEND'S GREETING
by Edgar A. Guest

I'd like to be the sort of friend that you have
been to me;
I'd like to be the help that you've been always