Beneath the Tree

The crystal star was gleaming bright,

From the topmost branch on Christmas night.

I sat alone, and icicles twirled

And twinkled at me from their tinsel world.

Beneath the tree, where gifts had lain,

The cross on the wooden base was plain

Through the cotton snow, and I was stirred

By a thought so true that I almost heard.

Beneath the beauty, the glitter and gloss,

No Christmas wholly conceals the Cross,

For there is a form that each must own,

Geometry of flesh and bone.

And Beethoven's star can never die;

The heart's own cross will hold it high.

~ Author Unknown