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Christmas Eve, The little family of four, Though very poor, Did not grieve That their supper on that holy night Was to be no more Than a bowl of broth. They did not bemoan their pitiful plight, By growing so wroth As to blame God for negligent oversight. In fact, in faith, they were as grateful For that sparse fare as for a plateful Of yuletide turkey and dressing. Then came a new blessing That was not on the docket, When father found a lone coin in his pocket. Just enough for a loaf of bread "Son, run to the baker's," his mother said. Before it closes." And off the lad sped. What cropped up...