In a town called Bethlehem,

Long ago and far away

A tiny baby child was born

And in a manger lay.

They called this baby Jesus.

The boy child was soon a man

As the years went swiftly past.

All the world began to know,

The promised King was here at last.

They called this man Jesus.

He Taught a troubled world to love.

He healed the sick. He fed the poor;

Told people of a place called Heaven

And how to reach that open door.

They called his name Jesus.

Many who lived in that time

Were filled with hate and fear.

Jesus knew as each day passed,

His death was drawing near.

They called his name Jesus.

One dark and desolate day

It happened as the Good Book said,

He hung upon a wooden cross

A crown of throns upon his head.

They called his name Jesus.

As Christmas time again draws near

Each and everyone does know

That a child was born in Bethlehem

A long, long time ago.

They called his name Jesus.

B. J. Arnold

The Night Before Christmas

T'was the night before christmas, he lived all alone,

In a one bedroom house made of plaster and stone.

I had come down the chimney with presents to give,

And to see just who in this home did live.

I looked all about, a strange sight I did see,

No tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.

No stocking by mantle, just boots filled with sand,

On the wall hung pictures of far distant lands.

With medals and badges, awards of all kinds,

A sober thought came through my mind.

For this house was different, it was dark and dreary,

I found the home of a soldier, once I could see clearly.

The soldier lay sleeping, silent, alone,

Curled up on the floor in this one bedroom home.

The face was so gentle, the room in such disorder,

Not how I pictured a United States Soldier.

Was this the hero of whom I'd just read?

Curled up on a poncho, the floor for a bed?

I realized the families that I saw this night,

Owed their lives to these soldiers who were willing to fight.

Soon round the world, the children would play,

And grownups would celebrate a bright Christmas day.

They all enjoyed freedom each month of the year,

Because of the soldiers, like the one laying here.

I couldn't help wonder how many lay alone,

On a cold Christmas Eve in a land far from home.

The very thought brought a tear to my eye,

I dropped to my knees and started to cry.

The soldier awakened and I heard a rough voice,

"Santa don't cry, this life is my choice;

I fight for freedom, I don't ask for more,

My life is my god, my country, my corps."

The soldier rolled over and drifted to sleep,

I couldn't control it, I continued to weep.

I kept watch for hours, so silent and still,

And we both shivered from the cold night's chill.

I didn't want to leave on that cold, dark, night,

This guradian of honor so willing to fight.

Then the soldier rolled over, with a voice soft and pure,

Whispered, "Carry on santa, its's Christmas Day, all is secure."

One look at my watch, and I knew he was right

Merry Christmas my friend, and to all a good night.

By: Major Bruce Lovely, Adapted from a similar poem, Anonymous