...racing one another in usurpa-tion, greed, and selfishness? I am innocent of those who bear my name yet hate their brother man, and who go about satisfying their lusts and desires at the expense of the poor and the weak. So ring out, O bells of the feast, the message of Christmas, which must forever be love, brother-hood, and peace.

Miss Marie Sabri

"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men."

It is a choir of angels singing its immortal anthem, rejoicing at the birth of the firstborn child — firstborn of the sowers in the field of humanity, the inspiration of love, first of those who said, "Love your enemies," that immortal sentence which, had the world acted upon it, would have made war vanish at once. It is as though the angels knew that the newborn had come to utter those sweet words, words of love for all, words that are the one medicine for unfurling the banner of peace.

Of all the melodies mankind has ever invented, I know of none more capable of consolation, none more gladdening to the heart, than the melody of peace and good will.

A choir of angels, singing to a little child, in a lowly manger; shepherds; Magi — strange and wondrous images that stir in my soul an inward inspiration, open before me the door of contem-plation, and make me feel that I am in no ordinary atmosphere, that my spirit has been cleansed of the dross of material life and has joined the host on high, the host of peace, love, and brotherhood. It is a feeling my soul has long yearned for, one I have long wished might endure,

for nothing gladdens the heart or delights the soul more than the memory of Christmas day and the song of love and peace. And how should hearts not thrill with joy on the birthday feast of that Nazarene — champion of right over falsehood, champion of the weak, champion of everyone bereft of hope.

Miss Rida Jureidini

A great joy embraces heaven and earth at the birth of a new boy. Before his humble cradle, whence burst forth the light of brother-hood, equality, and peace, there meet the king, the scholar, and the shepherd — brothers alike in what they seek, equals in what they receive; the great among them does not usurp the rights of the small, nor does the mighty lord it over the lowly; they meet to give up, of their own accord, a part of what they possess.

It is as though I heard this child, in whose honor the feast is kept today, saying: "People celebrate in my name and exchange precious gifts, but I am a stranger among them. I roam the East of the earth and its West, and there is none who knows my truth. I brought peace and gladness to the world — so where is peace? And why do I see peoples and individ-uals in turmoil and conflagration

Mrs. Josephine Salman

From long ago, since the days of earliest childhood, Christmas has been in my soul a joy that no other joy can equal... On Christmas eve my father would gather us all, my brothers and sisters and me, to his breast, around the hearth heaped with embers, to tell us the heavenly story... the story of the snow

upon the grotto and the child in the manger, and the angels in the sky, and the shepherds on the mountain, and Magi bearing frankincense and myrrh and gold... and Mary wrapping her child against the frost of that night... and the animals warming him with their breath.

...And I still remember that on that night, Christmas night, my father's soul was filled to overflowing with joy and love and tenderness. His face would shine with something strange, making us all feel a bliss, while we closed our eyes upon a beautiful dream and gave ourselves up to a sweet slumber... from which we would wake to the sound of the bell in the church near our house... and hurry, by some inward impulse, to the new feast-day dresses and the red Christmas ribbon. And what was our astonishment to find that a strange, wondrous hand had filled the corners of the bed with beautiful gifts... They used to tell us it was the hand of the holy old man, the friend of children...

And here I am today: this joyful memory comes back to me at every Christmas in the faces of my three children... as they listen with their eyes and their hearts to the beautiful tale I learned from my father. They fall asleep, and in their hearts sleeps the morning's dream: "Papa Noël" and the sacks of new clothes and shoes... and a little child, fair-haired, rosy-cheeked, tender of body, sleeping in the grotto, whose name is Jesus...

And in the morning a wave of joy sweeps over me, reminding me of the days of my own childhood, as I watch them jumping beside my bed, barefoot, in their eyes the joy of the feast and the gladness of the feast, and in their hands the gifts of the feast.

...Nor do I forget, for all my joy, that for many, many children Christmas will be nothing more than the cut of a knife in their hearts...

When, one wonders, will Christmas become the joy of all children upon the breasts of all mothers?