Ask Mrs Figgins » One Village

There is no greater charge than protecting the children.

Mrs. Figgins — Sat, 21 May 2011 11:27:31 +0000

We have no greater charge than protecting the children.

Dear Mrs. Figgins:

I am a mother of 2. I was sexually molested when I was 11 years old by my brother who was 13. It continued until I was 13. While there was no outright rape, it was fondling. That fondling wasn’t just a moment that could be misinterpreted or taken as a child’s cruel dream.

We are grown and each have our own small children. Since our first year in college my brother and I have lived in separate states. He and his family are moving close by and want to start doing things together as a family.

My mind tells me that he was just a kid himself when this happened and I should forgive and forget. My gut tells me that allowing a relationship with him again is a very bad idea.

Trying to do the right thing.

Dear Trying:

There is only one right thing: PROTECT THE CHILDREN.

Under no circumstances ever leave any or all of your kids with your brother, at his house or anywhere he might be, where your kids can be out of your direct eyesight.

Decline any personal invitations from him for any reason. Forever.

If you must attend a family gathering such as a wedding, make certain the kids are never out of your reach.

You are correct. There is no misinterpreting what happened to you. It wasn’t a mere bad dream, it was a cruel reality at the hands of your brother, and he should not be trusted alone with any child.

Showing compassion to evil does not make us better people and certainly doesn’t serve us well in protecting the innocent.

As a child you were powerless to protect yourself, but as a parent you and your husband have the power and the responsibility. There is no greater charge than protecting your children.

Mrs. Figgins

Nephew 37, Gay & A Good Son

Mrs. Figgins — Wed, 09 Mar 2011 00:53:45 +0000

Think again.

Dear Mrs. Figgins:

I have a nephew who is 37, and gay.

His life revolves around his Mother. He is constantly worried about “Mummy”.

He rushes to do her grocery shopping each week, buys her flowers, opens the doors for her, washes her car, kisses and hugs her non-stop.

Is this normal? I understand that he loves his mother, but don’t you think he should be more focused on his own life? After all, he has a wonderful lover . Shouldn’t he consider his partners feelings?

Concerned Auntie.

Dear Concerned:

My goodness, aren’t you lucky (and take it from me!). “Good son” usually translates to - good husband – good lover - most important of all, good man.

What an a terrific young man you’ve each been blessed with. Mummy is to be saluted for an job well done. Now, do the right thing and focus on what a good kid he turned out to be – and maybe find a new hobby to keep you occupied.

Mrs. Figgins

"And I think to myself…what a wonderful world!"

Mrs. Figgins — Sat, 17 Jul 2010 18:49:25 +0000

Lets Be Friends!

“I am gay,” she said,

and paused while we collectively stopped breathing.

she continued,

“I am lesbian. I am black. I am white. I am Native American.

I am Christian. I am Jew. I am Muslim.”

Dr. Maya Angelou

Merry Christmas to all – and to all…a good night.

Mrs. Figgins — Fri, 25 Dec 2009 05:01:50 +0000

GOD’S blessings to you and yours.

Mrs. Figgins

Relationship advice: www.askdrromance.com

Twas the night before Christmas – I sprang to see what was the matter?

Mrs. Figgins — Thu, 24 Dec 2009 15:04:46 +0000

Not a creature was stirring – not even a mouse!

Throughout this week Mrs. Figgins will share a few of the most loved poems and stories of the Christmas season.

Next installment shown below.

From our family to yours,

Merry Christmas and Wishes for a Blessed New Year!

Mrs. Figgins & Family

Clement Clarke Moore (1779 – 1863) wrote the poem “Twas the night before Christmas” (also called “A Visit from St. Nicholas” in 1822.

Mr. Moore came from a prominent family and his father Benjamin Moore was the Bishop of New York who was famous for officiating at the inauguration of George Washington.

It has long become the tradition in many American families to read the poem every Christmas Eve – and has redefined the image of Christmas and even Santa Claus.

Before the creation of the story of “Twas the night before Christmas”, St. Nicholas, the patron saint of children, had never been associated with a sleigh or reindeers!

The author of the poem “Twas the night before Christmas” was a reticent man and it is believed that a family friend, Miss H. Butler, sent a copy of the poem to the New York Sentinel who published the poem.

The condition of publication was that the author of “Twas the night before Christmas” was to remain anonymous.

The first publication date was 23rd December 1823 and it was an immediate success.

It was not until 1844 that Clement Clarke Moore claimed ownership when the work was included in a book of his poetry.

‘Twas the night before Christmas

by Clement Clarke Moore

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;

And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

“Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!

Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,

With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;

He had a broad face and a little round belly,

That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night.”

www.askdrromance.com Free Relationship Advice

GOD is all colors

Mrs. Figgins — Thu, 24 Dec 2009 06:21:39 +0000

We're all the same no matter what...

Some Children See Him

By Alfred Burt

Some children see Him lily white
the infant Jesus born this night
Some children see Him lily white
with tresses soft and fair

Some children see Him bronzed and brown
the Lord of heav’n to earth come down
Some children see Him bronzed and brown
with dark and heavy hair (with dark and heavy hair!)

Some children see Him almond-eyed
This Saviour whom we kneel beside
Some children see Him almond-eyed
With skin of yellow hue!

Some children see Him dark as they
Sweet Mary’s Son to whom we pray
Some children see Him dark as they
And, ah! they love Him so!

The children in each different place
Will see the Baby Jesus’ face
Like theirs but bright with heav’nly grace
And filled with holy light!

O lay aside each earthly thing
and with thy heart as offering
Come worship now the infant King
’tis love that’s born tonight!

’tis love that’s born tonight!

www.askdrromance.com Free Relationship Advice

The Little Match Seller – Hans Christian Andersen

Mrs. Figgins — Tue, 22 Dec 2009 06:14:45 +0000

The Little Match-Seller

Throughout this week Mrs. Figgins will be sharing a few of the most loved poems and stories of the Christmas season.

Next installment shown below.

From our family to yours,

Merry Christmas and Wishes for a Blessed New Year!

Mrs. Figgins & Family

The Little Match-Seller

by

Hans Christian Andersen

It was terribly cold and nearly dark on the last evening of the old year, and the snow was falling fast.

In the cold and the darkness, a poor little girl, with bare head and naked feet, roamed through the streets. It is true she had on a pair of slippers when she left home, but they were not of much use.

They were very large, so large, indeed, that they had belonged to her mother, and the poor little creature had lost them in running across the street to avoid two carriages that were rolling along at a terrible rate.

One of the slippers she could not find, and a boy seized upon the other and ran away with it, saying that he could use it as a cradle, when he had children of his own.

So the little girl went on with her little naked feet, which were quite red and blue with the cold.

In an old apron she carried a number of matches, and had a bundle of them in her hands. No one had bought anything of her the whole day, nor had anyone given her even a penny. Shivering with cold and hunger, she crept along; poor little child, she looked the picture of misery.

The snowflakes fell on her long, fair hair, which hung in curls on her shoulders, but she regarded them not.

Lights were shining from every window, and there was a savory smell of roast goose, for it was New-year’s eve—yes, she remembered that. In a corner, between two houses, one of which projected beyond the other, she sank down and huddled herself together.

She had drawn her little feet under her, but she could not keep off the cold; and she dared not go home, for she had sold no matches, and could not take home even a penny of money.

Her father would certainly beat her; besides, it was almost as cold at home as here, for they had only the roof to cover them, through which the wind howled, although the largest holes had been stopped up with straw and rags.

Her little hands were almost frozen with the cold. Ah! perhaps a burning match might be some good, if she could draw it from the bundle and strike it against the wall, just to warm her fingers. She drew one out—“scratch!” how it sputtered as it burnt! It gave a warm, bright light, like a little candle, as she held her hand over it. It was really a wonderful light. It seemed to the little girl that she was sitting by a large iron stove, with polished brass feet and a brass ornament.

How the fire burned! and seemed so beautifully warm that the child stretched out her feet as if to warm them, when, lo! the flame of the match went out, the stove vanished, and she had only the remains of the half-burnt match in her hand.

She rubbed another match on the wall. It burst into a flame, and where its light fell upon the wall it became as transparent as a veil, and she could see into the room.

The table was covered with a snowy white table-cloth, on which stood a splendid dinner service, and a steaming roast goose, stuffed with apples and dried plums. And what was still more wonderful, the goose jumped down from the dish and waddled across the floor, with a knife and fork in its breast, to the little girl.

Then the match went out, and there remained nothing but the thick, damp, cold wall before her.

She lighted another match, and then she found herself sitting under a beautiful Christmas-tree. It was larger and more beautifully decorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door at the rich merchant’s. Thousands of tapers were burning upon the green branches, and colored pictures, like those she had seen in the show-windows, looked down upon it all. The little one stretched out her hand towards them, and the match went out.

The Christmas lights rose higher and higher, till they looked to her like the stars in the sky. Then she saw a star fall, leaving behind it a bright streak of fire. “Someone is dying,” thought the little girl, for her old grandmother, the only one who had ever loved her, and who was now dead, had told her that when a star falls, a soul was going up to God.

She again rubbed a match on the wall, and the light shone round her; in the brightness stood her old grandmother, clear and shining, yet mild and loving in her appearance. “Grandmother,” cried the little one, “O take me with you; I know you will go away when the match burns out; you will vanish like the warm stove, the roast goose, and the large, glorious Christmas-tree.” And she made haste to light the whole bundle of matches, for she wished to keep her grandmother there. And the matches glowed with a light that was brighter than the noon-day, and her grandmother had never appeared so large or so beautiful.

She took the little girl in her arms, and they both flew upwards in brightness and joy far above the earth, where there was neither cold nor hunger nor pain, for they were with God.

In the dawn of morning there lay the poor little one, with pale cheeks and smiling mouth, leaning against the wall; she had been frozen to death on the last evening of the year; and the New-year’s sun rose and shone upon a little corpse!

The child still sat, in the stiffness of death, holding the matches in her hand, one bundle of which was burnt. “She tried to warm herself,” said some.

No one imagined what beautiful things she had seen, nor into what glory she had entered with her grandmother, on New-year’s day

There really is a Santa Claus

Mrs. Figgins — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 03:02:50 +0000

Throughout this week Mrs. Figgins will be sharing a few of the most loved poems and stories of the Christmas season.

The first installment shown below.

From our family to yours,

Merry Christmas and Wishes for a Blessed New Year!

Mrs. Figgins & Family

Eight-year-old Virginia O’Hanlon wrote a letter to the editor of New York’s Sun, and the quick response was printed as an unsigned editorial Sept. 21, 1897. The work of veteran newsman Francis Pharcellus Church has since become history’s most reprinted newspaper editorial, appearing in part or whole in dozens of languages in books, movies, and other editorials, and on posters and stamps.

Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus
The New York Sun – 1897

We take pleasure in answering thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of The Sun:

“DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old.
“Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.
“Papa says, ‘If you see it in THE SUN it’s so.’
“Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?”VIRGINIA O’HANLON.
“115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET.”

VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except [what] they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You may tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

"Believe!"

Support our troops – Freedom Alliance

Mrs. Figgins — Mon, 14 Dec 2009 16:23:10 +0000

Support our troops!

Dear Mrs. Figgins:

We read your column and know how much you honor our troops.

If at all possible, please share this wonderful organization with your readers: the Freedom Alliance, founded by Lt. Col Oliver North

The Freedom Alliance Support Our Troops program supports our wounded and recuperating troops. There are more than 12,000 servicemen and women in Warrior Transition Units on military bases all around the country. American heroes are recovering from their injuries and many will return to active duty; others will transition to civilian life.

Hosting Troop Appreciation Events, including dinners and Christmas parties for combat-wounded troops and their families stationed at military bases and Wounded Warrior Transition Units around the country to show them how truly grateful our country is for their sacrifice.

Freedom Alliance delivers Christmas gifts to military families who need our help at this special time of year. Last year, through the generosity of Freedom Alliance supporters gave over 5,000 Christmas gift bags to our wounded service members and their families.

Freedom Alliance provides financial aid grants and gift cards to servicemen and women in need. Last year, Freedom Alliance supporters made it possible to provide over $225,000 in financial aid grants to our brave defenders of freedom in military hospitals around the United States.

Freedom Alliance “Gifts from Home” project ships care packages to our troops serving overseas. During the Christmas season, they will ship hundreds of “Gifts from Home” boxes containing thousands of requested and needed items, including prepaid international calling cards, candy, toiletries, games, non-perishable food, Germ-X hand sanitizer, books, magazines, DVDs, CDs and so much more!

Freedom Alliance provides support for military families through “Adopt-A-Military Family” project, which brings Holiday joy to families in need, with Christmas gifts they might not otherwise afford – all wrapped and delivered to their homes before Christmas.

For your readers who may want to help support our troops this holiday season, please provide this link:

https://www.ifr-ors.com/ors_2_live/clients/freedom_alliance/SupportTroops/index.cfm?A=1218&L=NULL&P=NULL

Freedom Alliance will make a difference for our injured heroes.

Thank You for your support, Mrs. Figgins

Missy and Buck Olsen

Dear Missy and Buck:

THANK YOU for sharing this wonderful organization with all of us.

Our prayers are with the troops and their families. We are blessed with their sacrifices.

May GOD Bless each one of our soldiers and bring them home safely.

With heartfelt appreciation,

Mrs. Figgins

Sexual orientation – not a personal choice.

Mrs. Figgins — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 23:15:20 +0000

Dear Mrs. Figgins:

My brother and his wife are a great couple. They are loving dedicate parents, with five kids.

Two of the kids are college graduates, two will be graduating in the next two years, and one is still in high school.

Three years ago my niece, a college graduate, announced she is gay. A few months ago, my nephew, who “was” engaged, announced he is gay. Yet, he remains best of friends with his former fiancé!

My brother and sister-in-law have handled this with tremendous grace, and everyone seems to be one happy family. The brothers and sisters are very supportive of each other and closer than ever.

Meanwhile, the rest of us have been left shattered and confused.

How can this wonderful family can end up with two gay kids? They always seemed so “together”. What would make these two kids want to go in this direction?

What went wrong? What are we all missing? What can I do?

Family Members In Disbelief

Dear Family In Disbelief:

Your brother and his family are not missing a thing. By the sounds of it, they’re quite “together”.

Sexuality is an important part of who we are as humans. Sexual orientation is not a personal choice. It is a matter of genetics.

The only thing wrong is the hardship any person endures as a result of prejudicial attitudes or misinformation.

The best thing you can do is be non-judgmental, supportive and loving.

You have a wonderful family. Make each moment count.

Mrs. Figgins

Ask Mrs Figgins » One Village

There is no greater charge than protecting the children.

We have no greater charge than protecting the children.

Dear Mrs. Figgins:

I am a mother of 2. I was sexually molested when I was 11 years old by my brother who was 13. It continued until I was 13. While there was no outright rape, it was fondling. That fondling wasn’t just a moment that could be misinterpreted or taken as a child’s cruel dream.

We are grown and each have our own small children. Since our first year in college my brother and I have lived in separate states. He and his family are moving close by and want to start doing things together as a family.

My mind tells me that he was just a kid himself when this happened and I should forgive and forget. My gut tells me that allowing a relationship with him again is a very bad idea.

Trying to do the right thing.

Dear Trying:

There is only one right thing: PROTECT THE CHILDREN.

Under no circumstances ever leave any or all of your kids with your brother, at his house or anywhere he might be, where your kids can be out of your direct eyesight.

Decline any personal invitations from him for any reason. Forever.

If you must attend a family gathering such as a wedding, make certain the kids are never out of your reach.

You are correct. There is no misinterpreting what happened to you. It wasn’t a mere bad dream, it was a cruel reality at the hands of your brother, and he should not be trusted alone with any child.

Showing compassion to evil does not make us better people and certainly doesn’t serve us well in protecting the innocent.

As a child you were powerless to protect yourself, but as a parent you and your husband have the power and the responsibility. There is no greater charge than protecting your children.

Mrs. Figgins

Nephew 37, Gay & A Good Son

Think again.

Think again.

Dear Mrs. Figgins:

I have a nephew who is 37, and gay.

His life revolves around his Mother. He is constantly worried about “Mummy”.

He rushes to do her grocery shopping each week, buys her flowers, opens the doors for her, washes her car, kisses and hugs her non-stop.

Is this normal? I understand that he loves his mother, but don’t you think he should be more focused on his own life? After all, he has a wonderful lover . Shouldn’t he consider his partners feelings?

Concerned Auntie.

Dear Concerned:

My goodness, aren’t you lucky (and take it from me!). “Good son” usually translates to - good husband – good lover - most important of all, good man.

What an a terrific young man you’ve each been blessed with. Mummy is to be saluted for an job well done. Now, do the right thing and focus on what a good kid he turned out to be – and maybe find a new hobby to keep you occupied.

Mrs. Figgins

"And I think to myself…what a wonderful world!"

Lets Be Friends! “I am gay,” she said, and paused while we collectively stopped breathing. she continued, “I am lesbian. I am black. I am white. I am Native American. I am Christian. I am Jew. I am Muslim.” Dr. Maya Angelou

and paused while we collectively stopped breathing.

she continued,

“I am lesbian. I am black. I am white. I am Native American.

I am Christian. I am Jew. I am Muslim.”

Dr. Maya Angelou

Merry Christmas to all – and to all…a good night.

GOD’S blessings to you and yours.

GOD’S blessings to you and yours.

Twas the night before Christmas – I sprang to see what was the matter?

Not a creature was stirring – not even a mouse!

Throughout this week Mrs. Figgins will share a few of the most loved poems and stories of the Christmas season.

Next installment shown below.

From our family to yours,

Merry Christmas and Wishes for a Blessed New Year!

Mrs. Figgins & Family

Clement Clarke Moore (1779 – 1863) wrote the poem “Twas the night before Christmas” (also called “A Visit from St. Nicholas” in 1822.

Mr. Moore came from a prominent family and his father Benjamin Moore was the Bishop of New York who was famous for officiating at the inauguration of George Washington.

It has long become the tradition in many American families to read the poem every Christmas Eve – and has redefined the image of Christmas and even Santa Claus.

Before the creation of the story of “Twas the night before Christmas”, St. Nicholas, the patron saint of children, had never been associated with a sleigh or reindeers!

The author of the poem “Twas the night before Christmas” was a reticent man and it is believed that a family friend, Miss H. Butler, sent a copy of the poem to the New York Sentinel who published the poem.

The condition of publication was that the author of “Twas the night before Christmas” was to remain anonymous.

The first publication date was 23rd December 1823 and it was an immediate success.

It was not until 1844 that Clement Clarke Moore claimed ownership when the work was included in a book of his poetry.

‘Twas the night before Christmas

by Clement Clarke Moore

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;

And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

“Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!

Lets Be Friends!

“I am gay,” she said,

and paused while we collectively stopped breathing.

she continued,

“I am lesbian. I am black. I am white. I am Native American.

I am Christian. I am Jew. I am Muslim.”

Dr. Maya Angelou

Some children see Him lily white
the infant Jesus born this night
Some children see Him lily white
with tresses soft and fair

Some children see Him bronzed and brown
the Lord of heav’n to earth come down
Some children see Him bronzed and brown
with dark and heavy hair (with dark and heavy hair!)

Some children see Him almond-eyed
This Saviour whom we kneel beside
Some children see Him almond-eyed
With skin of yellow hue!

Some children see Him dark as they
Sweet Mary’s Son to whom we pray
Some children see Him dark as they
And, ah! they love Him so!

The children in each different place
Will see the Baby Jesus’ face
Like theirs but bright with heav’nly grace
And filled with holy light!

O lay aside each earthly thing
and with thy heart as offering
Come worship now the infant King
’tis love that’s born tonight!