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The holly berry that burns so red Once was whiter than wheaten bread

Whiter than shells along the shore It blooms on its tree by a stable door. Villagers come there, half-afraid Gifts in their hands for Child and Maid.

And one has nothing of note, so he Fetches a branch of the holly tree.

Alas, alas, the little Newborn Has pricked His finger upon a thorn, Has left His blood on the spiny leaves. Heavy of heart the holly grieves, Sees in a terrible vision how A crown of holly shall bind His brow When Child is man.

For sorrow and shame The berries have blushed as red as flame. Says Mary the Mother, "Take no blame.

"But be of good cheer as ever you can. Both foul and fair are the works of man, Yet unto man has my Son been lent. And you , dear tree are the innocent,

Who weeps for pity what man might do. So all your thorns are forgiven you." Now red, rejoicing, the berries shine On jubilant doors as a Christmas sign That desolation to joy makes way. Holly is the symbol of Christ's Birthday!