Awash with mesmerising coloured lights,
Resounding with enduring festive song,
The malls of mammon, teeming with delights,
Seductive to the pleasure-seeking throng;
From babe in arms to grey-haired doddering dad,
With little or with surfeit wherewithal,
Whether in velvet or in sackcloth clad,
Perennial mystery holds all in thrall;
Yet few in faith hold feast in close embrace,
While most succumb to man’s insidious greed;
Would that good sense such madness could replace,
Then Jubilate Deum might succeed.
Prodigal grace to creatures all extends,
Pernicious recompense for none commends.