So stick up ivy and the bays, <br />And then restore the heathen ways. <br />Green will remind you of the spring, <br />Though this great day denies the thing. <br />And mortifies the earth and all <br />But your wild revels, and loose hall. <br />Could you wear flowers, and roses strow <br />Blushing upon your breasts' warm snow, <br />That very dress your lightness will <br />Rebuke, and wither at the ill. <br />The brightness of this day we owe <br />Not unto music, masque, nor show: <br />Nor gallant furniture, nor plate; <br />But to the manger's mean estate. <br />His life while here, as well as birth, <br />Was but a check to pomp and mirth; <br />And all man's greatness you may see <br />Condemned by His humility. <br />Then leave your open house and noise, <br />To welcome Him with holy joys, <br />And the poor shepherd's watchfulness: <br />Whom light and hymns from heaven did bless. <br />What you abound with, cast abroad <br />To those that want, and ease your load. <br />Who empties thus, will bring more in; <br />But riot is both loss and sin. <br />Dress finely what comes not in sight, <br />And then you keep your Christmas right.<br /><br />Henry Vaughan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-true-christians/
