He is the children's Christmas;
  They come without a call,
To gather round the gracious Child,
  Who bringeth joy to all.

But who shall bring their Christmas
  Who wrestle still with life?
Not grandsires, youths, or little folks,
  But they who wage the strife—
The fathers and the mothers
  Who fight for homes and bread,
Who watch and ward the living,
  And bury all the dead?
Ah! by their side at Christmas-tide
  The Lord of Christmas stands:
He smooths the furrows from their brow
  With strong and tender hands.
"I take my Christmas gift," He saith,
  "From thee, tired soul, and he
Who giveth to My little ones
  Gives also unto Me."