Among the world of men,
Once a year a little path
Leads us home again,
Leads us through a starry night,
To holly on a door,
To stockings by the chimney
And toys upon the floor . . .
Every home's a sacred place
A star may shine above,
If it hold a memory
Of child-and-mother love.
The world's way's a wide way
And leads me far a-roam,
But the little path to Christmas
Can always bring us home.
Anne Higginson Spicer
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