“I am the Christmas Spirit—
“I enter the home of poverty, causing palefaced children to open their eyes wide, in pleased wonder.
“I cause the miser’s clutched hand to relax and thus paint a bright spot on his soul.
“I cause the aged to renew their youth and to laugh in the old glad way.
“I keep romance alive in the heart of childhood, and brighten sleep with dreams woven of magic.
“I cause eager feet to climb dark stairways with filled baskets, leaving behind hearts amazed at the goodness of the world.
“I cause the prodigal to pause a moment on his wild, wasteful way and send to anxious love some little token that releases glad tears—tears which wash away the hard lines of sorrow.
“I enter dark prison cells, reminding scarred manhood of what might have been and pointing forward to good days yet to be.
“I come softly into the still, white home of pain, and lips that are too weak to speak just tremble in silent, eloquent gratitude.
“In a thousand ways, I cause the weary world to look up into the face of God, and for a little moment forget the things that are small and wretched.
“I am the Christmas Spirit.” ( E. C. Baird, “Christmas Spirit,” in James S. Hewitt, ed., Illustrations Unlimited (1988), 81.)