Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it — this poem is from my great-grandmother Alice B. Johnson (from her book Where Children Live (1958))
This is the day, the Christmas day,
The world has waited for —
This is the dream men dreamed of home
For four long years and more.
This is the dream that brought them through
Bastogne and Bougainville —
Through jungle heat and frozen waste,
Beyond each numbered hill.
Hang up the holly, mistletoe,
And light the Christmas tree,
And dream tonight of Bethlehem —
Think not of Calvary.
Think not of crosses in a row
Or comrades resting there —
They sleep above the stars tonight,
Safe in a Father’s care.