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| Dear Christ upon this Christmas morn |
| Let all men weep that you were born |
| Upon this earth that's thought so fair |
| That's but the Cross which you must bear. |
| The beauty of the budding rose, |
| The lovely diamonds of the dew, |
| Proclaim naught but the pain you choose |
| That we might one day live as you. |
| All lover's speech, all infant's cry, |
| All sick-bed sweat and dying groan, |
| Is you in us that we may die |
| To us and live as you alone. |
| Let us then, brothers, lift our hands |
| And pledge our souls in holy bands |
| To labour for Him through the lands |
| Till earth itself in Christhood stands. |
—FRANCIS BRABAZON |
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