The Christmas Mass

I received this poem in the mail at one of the radio stations I worked at, probably WGSO, New Orleans, given the date of the poem. I had never heard of the author and I don't think he's the one who sent it to me. I used it on the air several times, and I treasured the poem enough to make many copies of it and I filed them away. They have been lost for at least 20 or 25 years, maybe more. I had given up hope until last week, when I came across the original (no copies) in a box of memories stored in my closet. I thought you might enjoy it:

The Christmas Mass The snow was blowing out of doors The drifts were piling high And I could see pedestrians As they were passing by. The faces of my Irish friends Came dimly through the glass As they trudged along those icy streets To worship at the Mass. I thought a while, went back to bed And cuddled safe and sound As they plodded through those snowy streets On sacred duty bound. I envy them their strength of heart, The faith that they renew But on an icy cold Christmas morn It’s good to be a Jew.