I think I might be weary of this day <br />That comes inevitably every year, <br />The same when I was young and strong and gay, <br />The same when I am old and growing sere- <br />I should grow weary of it every year <br />But that thou comest to me every day. <br /> <br />I shall grow weary if thou every day <br />But come to me, Lord of eternal life; <br />I shall grow weary thus to watch and pray, <br />For ever out of labour into strife; <br />Take everlasting house with me, my life, <br />And I shall be new-born this Christmas-day. <br /> <br />Thou art the Eternal Son, and born no day, <br />But ever he the Father, thou the Son; <br />I am his child, but being born alway- <br />How long, O Lord, how long till it be done? <br />Be thou from endless years to years the Son- <br />And I thy brother, new-born every day.<br /><br />George MacDonald<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/christmas-day-1878/
