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