All my life I've wanted to be,
A bell upon a Christmas tree.
How can I be a Christmas bell,
If I can't jingle very well?

What good's a bell that cannot ring,
A bell that has no ding-a-ling?
Some years ago when I was young,
I thought I would be rung and rung.

I'd come alive at Christmas time,
And ring, as I was so designed.
But... alas, alack... I'd fallen down,
And laid a long time on the ground.

I laid alone in a silent state,
With tears, I did accept my fate.
With hope near gone, some children came,
And saw me lying there in pain.

One little fellow lifted me,
So thrilled with his discovery.
I felt, too, I'd been reprieved,
I might yet ring on Christmas Eve.

My heart soared just like a rocket,
When he tucked me in his pocket,
But rocks and balls and bits of string,
Don't give bells much room to ring.

So packed in there - so sad was I,
I really felt that I might die.
But that same day, though later on,
He dumped his pockets for his Mom.

She picked me up and washed me well,
She said, "My, what a lovely bell!"
I rang and rang; I jingled so,
Such Christmas bliss I knew I'd know.

Once more I'd hang upon a tree,
For all to hear and all to see.
"Oh yes," I heard the lady say,
"This bell will ring on Christmas Day."

She hung me on their Christmas tree,
Where I rang out in ecstasy.
No ring so pure - no ring so sweet,
As bells that ring at Jesus' feet!


Ginny (Virginia) Ellis ~ 2001 {revised 2003}

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