A man is at his finest towards the finish of the year; <br />He is almost what he should be when the Christmas season's here; <br />Then he's thinking more of others than he's thought the months before, <br />And the laughter of his children is a joy worth toiling for. <br />He is less a selfish creature than at any other time; <br />When the Christmas spirit rules him he comes close to the sublime. <br />When it's Christmas man is bigger and is better in his part; <br />He is keener for the service that is prompted by the heart. <br />All the petty thoughts and narrow seem to vanish for awhile <br />And the true reward he's seeking is the glory of a smile. <br />Then for others he is toiling and somehow it seems to me <br />That at Christmas he is almost what God wanted him to be. <br />If I had to paint a picture of a man I think I'd wait <br />Till he'd fought his selfish battles and had put aside his hate. <br />I'd not catch him at his labors when his thoughts are all of pelf, <br />On the long days and the dreary when he's striving for himself. <br />I'd not take him when he's sneering, when he's scornful or depressed, <br />But I'd look for him at Christmas when he's shining at his best. <br />Man is ever in a struggle and he's oft misunderstood; <br />There are days the worst that's in him is the master of the good, <br />But at Christmas kindness rules him and he puts himself aside <br />And his petty hates are vanquished and his heart is opened wide. <br />Oh, I don't know how to say it, but somehow it seems to me <br />That at Christmas man is almost what God sent him here to be.<br /><br />Edgar Albert Guest<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-christmas-2/
