From 'Christmas' by John Betjeman

Christmas .... And is it true? And is it true? This most tremendous tale of all, Seen in a stained-glass window's he, A Baby in an ox's stall? The Maker of the starts and sea Become a Child on earth for me? And is it true? For if it is, No loving fingers tying strings Around those tissued fripperies, The sweet and silly Christmas things, Bath salts and inexpensive scent And hideous tie so kindly meant. No love that in a family dwells, No carolling in frosty air, Nor all the steeple-shaking bells Can with this simple truth compare - That God was Man in Palestine And lives today in Bread and Wine.