This poem was recaptured from one of my dusty old treasures called "Drifted Snow Flakes" The book was a hit just after the Civil War between the States; albiet not entirely Christmas it does capture a certain element but must be read slow and savored a bit like aged wine. Enjoy...

When on the heart we look to find
Whose cherished image it doth wear,
We learn that not the loftiest mind
Doth grave its name most deeply there,
But the forgiving true and kind.
And knowing this,and that above
all offerings that can rendered be
To us, we most desire love,
It hath a marvel been to me,
That gentleness and charity
we strive not harder to attain,
though for ourselves alone the gain.
Doth not a hasty spirit fling
That one first drop of bitterness
Into love's pure and healing spring,
That else would flow forth but to bless?
Or like an unquenched spark it lies
E'en midst the gathered bonds of home;
It fires, it snaps the tender ties
That should bind bretheren into one.

Oh! for that calm and equal mind
Whose peace a breath may not disturb;
Who, where the soil seems all unkind,
some hidden virtue still will find,
And its own enmity doth curb.
Few spots of earth have fruitless proved
When patient hands have come to till;
Few hearts but some have justly loved
Few but we may love if we will.
Are any pure? Hath love a law
By which unmingled spotless worth,
Alone, may claim regard from her?
Then may she turn to-day from earth.

The trait to love must oft be sought,
Like veins in treasure-yielding ground;
If the bare surface holds it not,
Deeper, perchance, it may abound.
And having found it , oh, how fair
The uncovered grace shows to the light!
The whole wide, stony waste doth wear
For it knew beauty in our sight.
The gold is reached! Its hue we see!
All hid in our own breasts of such
As, by some secret alchemy,
Thrills at its first life-giving touch,
And glows with kindred sympathy!