The glowing censers, and their rich perfume; <br />The splendid vestments, and the sounding choir; <br />The gentle sigh of soul-subduing piety; <br />The alms which open-hearted charity <br />Bestows, with kindly glance; and those <br />Which e'en stern avarice. <br />Though with unwilling hand, <br />Seems forced to tender; an offering sweet <br />To the bright throne of mercy; mark <br />This day a festival. <br /> <br />And well our Christian sires of old <br />Loved when the year its course had roll'd, <br />And brought blithe Christmas back again, <br />With all its hospitable train. <br />Domestic and religious rite <br />Gave honour to the holy night. <br />On Christmas eve the bells were rung, <br />On Christmas-eve the mass was sung; <br />That only night in all the year <br />Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear. <br />The damsel donn'd her Kirtle sheen; <br />The hall was dress'd with holly green; <br />Then open'd wide the baron's hall, <br />To vassal -- tenant -- serf and all: <br />Power laid his rod of rule aside, <br />And ceremony doff'd his pride. <br />All hail'd with uncontroll'd delight, <br />And general voice, the happy night, <br />That to the cottage, as the crown, <br />Brought tidings of salvation down.<br /><br />Sir Walter Scott<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/christmas-97/
