There must be always remaining in every one’s life
Some place for the singing of the angels – something that glows in one bright light
Of penetrating beauty and meaning, then passes.
The commonplace is shot through with new glory –
Old burdens become lighter,
Deep and ancient wounds lose much of their old, old hurting

A crown is placed over our heads
That for the rest of our lives we are trying to grow
Tall enough to wear.
Despite all the crassness of life,
Despite all of the harsh discord of life,
Life is saved by the singing of the angels.

When the song of the angels is till,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and the princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flock,
The work of Christmas begins:

To house the homeless
To heal the broken
To feed the hungry
To release the prisoner
To rebuild the nation
To bring peace among brothers and sisters
To make music in the heart.

Howard Thurman