O How Shall I Keep My Christmas?

O how shall I keep my Christ­mas?

My heart whis­pered soft­ly to me

For I had been read­ing the sto­ry

Of the Lord’s na­ti­vi­ty;

And slow­ly and clear­ly be­fore me

The words like pic­tures rise

And the scenes ap­pear in the beau­ty

Of the star­ry Sy­ri­an skies.

O cra­dled He was in a mang­er!

For low­ly and poor was He

Whose throne is the splen­dors of Heav­en

Whose pow’r is in­fi­ni­ty;

And He bore His cross to save us

To save us from death and sin

And He trod all alone the wine­press

To make us pure and clean.

In glo­ry the hosts of the an­gels

Came sing­ing His song of praise

And fill­ing the heav’ns with their mu­sic

In those won­der­ful old days;

Singing Glory to God in the high­est!

And peace up­on earth

And the migh­ty chor­us of voic­es

Pealed forth Good will to all.

O how shall I keep my Christ­mas?

As they keep it in Heav­en ab­ove;

O keep it with peace and thanks­giv­ing

And kind­li­est deed of love;

And share with the poor and needy

The joys which the Lord gives thee;

And thy heart shall keep with the an­gels

The Lord’s na­ti­vi­ty.