A Sort of Magic
There’s a sort of magic that we know,
When the world about is washed with snow.
Of a Babe whose mother wipes His tears,
The luster of the heart throughout the years.
In a manger filled with golden hay,
Did the Babe the Christ-child come to lay.
Where His mother who had held Him tight,
Placed her Son to rest all through the night.
In the fields about the shepherds heard,
Angels singing out the glorious word.
Alleluia! To the newborn Boy!
Alleluia! He will bring us joy!
Glory to God, in the highest!
Glory to God, in the highest!
And on earth be peace to all mankind!
Glory to God, in the highest!
Glory to God, in the highest!
And on earth be peace to all mankind!
-Timothy Coral Mair
