‘Twas the night after Christmas.
When candles and flick’ring lights went out,
Presents unwrapped and carols sung,
No one gaily dancing about.
Trees’ piney branches drop needles;
Winter wreaths and flowers droop.
Cinnamon candles still alight.
Mothers make second day soup.
Conversations tell of wishes met,
Children’s racing dreams came true.
Paper and boxes lie empty
Revealing the special day is through.
In the corner one thing lingers
Wrapped merrily with vibrant bow.
Not one person has beheld it,
That the kindly Giver did bestow.
Hidden among the shredded paper
Lay the gift desired above all;
This gift so often forgotten
Yet most important though unheeded its call.
Nothing shiny, nor newly bought,
But a precious gift given free,
The breath of heaven come down
As the gift given for those who believe.
Neither under the green fir tree,
Nor atop the grandest of thrones,
This present of Holy Father
Born in the humblest of abodes.
The child born that holy Christmas night
Laid under the star’s shining gleam
Lived and died within humanity’s vision
Raised up willingly on a tree.
How fitting we yearly put up a tree
Place a star for each to remember
The stripped tree on which He hung
And died for all to enter.
With this gift no paper remains;
No day after blues, no gift unclaimed.
With this gift, joyful carols still peal
Laughter and joy eternal remain.
Candles and lights shine brightly still
While nature lives yet to proclaim
The glories of God on the throne;
His mercy washes out the stain.
‘Twas the joyous night after Christmas
Gaiety danced because of His love.
Laughter echoed, whispers shouted
Each telling of His love from above.
--Gail M. Suratt Davis
