Christmas in Legend and Story: A Book for Boys and Girls · Chapter 2The Christmas Silence
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Hushed are the pigeons cooing low On dusty rafters of the loft; And mild-eyed oxen, breathing soft, Sleep on the fragrant hay below.
Dim shadows in the corner hide; The glimmering lantern's rays are shed Where one young lamb just lifts his head, Then huddles 'gainst his mother's side.
Strange silence tingles in the air; Through the half-open door a bar Of light from one low-hanging star Touches a baby's radiant hair.
No sound: the mother, kneeling, lays Her cheek against the little face. Oh human love! Oh heavenly grace! 'Tis yet in silence that she prays!
Ages of silence end to-night; Then to the long-expectant earth Glad angels come to greet His birth In burst of music, love, and light!
Deep in the shelter of the cave, The ass with drooping head Stood weary in the shadow, where His master's hand had led. About the manger oxen lay, Bending a wide-eyed gaze Upon the little new-born Babe, Half worship, half amaze. High in the roof the doves were set, And cooed there, soft and mild, Yet not so sweet as, in the hay, The Mother to her Child. The gentle cows breathed fragrant breath To keep Babe Jesus warm, While loud and clear, o'er hill and dale, The cocks crowed, "Christ is born!" Out in the fields, beneath the stars, The young lambs sleeping lay, And dreamed that in the manger slept Another, white as they.
These were Thy neighbors, Christmas Child; To Thee their love was given, For in Thy baby face there shone The wonder-light of Heaven.
When Christ was born in Bethlehem, 'T was night, but seemed the noon of day; The stars, whose light Was pure and bright, Shone with unwavering ray; But one, one glorious star Guided the Eastern Magi from afar.
Then peace was spread throughout the land; The lion fed beside the tender lamb; And with the kid, To pasture led, The spotted leopard fed; In peace, the calf and bear, The wolf and lamb reposed together there.
As shepherds watched their flocks by night, An angel, brighter than the sun's own light, Appeared in air, And gently said, Fear not,—be not afraid, For lo! beneath your eyes, Earth has become a smiling paradise.
Tell me what is this innumerable throng Singing in the heavens a loud angelic song? These are they who come with swift and shining feet From round about the throne of God the Lord of Light to greet.
Oh, who are these that hasten beneath the starry sky, As if with joyful tidings that through the world shall fly? The faithful shepherds these, who greatly were afeared When, as they watched their flocks by night, the heavenly host appeared.
Who are these that follow across the hills of night A star that westward hurries along the fields of light?
Three wise men from the east who myrrh and treasure bring To lay them at the feet of him their Lord and Christ and King.
What babe new-born is this that in a manger cries? Near on her lowly bed his happy mother lies. Oh, see the air is shaken with white and heavenly wings— This is the Lord of all the earth, this is the King of kings.
Sleep, Thou little Child of Mary: Rest Thee now. Though these hands be rough from shearing And the plough,
Yet they shall not ever fail Thee, When the waiting nations hail Thee, Bringing palms unto their King. Now—I sing.
Sleep, Thou little Child of Mary, Hope divine. If Thou wilt but smile upon me, I will twine Blossoms for Thy garlanding. Thou'rt so little to be King, God's Desire! Not a brier Shall be left to grieve Thy brow; Rest Thee now.
Sleep, Thou little Child of Mary. Some fair day Wilt Thou, as Thou wert a brother, Come away Over hills and over hollow? All the lambs will up and follow, Follow but for love of Thee. Lov'st Thou me?
Sleep, Thou little Child of Mary; Rest Thee now. I that watch am come from sheep-stead And from plough. Thou wilt have disdain of me When Thou'rt lifted, royally, Very high for all to see: Smilest Thou?
The sun had dropped below the western hills of Judea, and the stillness of night had covered the earth. The heavens were illumined only by numberless stars, which shone the brighter for the darkness of the sky. No sound was heard but the occasional howl of a jackal or the bleat of a lamb in the sheepfold. Inside a tent on the hillside slept the shepherd, Berachah, and his daughter, Madelon. The little girl lay restless,—sleeping, waking, dreaming, until at last she roused herself and looked about her.
"Father," she whispered, "oh, my father, awake. I fear for the sheep."
The shepherd turned himself and reached for his staff. "What nearest thou, daughter! The dogs are asleep. Hast thou been burdened by an evil dream?"
"Nay, but father," she answered, "seest thou not the light? Hearest thou not the voice?"
Berachah gathered his mantle about him, rose, looked over the hills toward Bethlehem, and listened. The olive trees on yonder slope were casting their shadows in a marvellous light, unlike daybreak or sunset, or even the light of the moon. By the camp-fire below on the hillside the shepherds on watch were rousing themselves. Berachah waited and wondered, while Madelon clung to his side. Suddenly a sound rang out in the stillness. Madelon pressed still closer.
"It is the voice of an angel, my daughter. What it means I know not. Neither understand I this light." Berachah fell on his knees and prayed.
"Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger."
The voice of the angel died away, and the air was filled with music. Berachah raised Madelon to her feet. "Ah, daughter," said he, "It is the wonder night so long expected. To us hath it been given to see the sign. It is the Messiah who hath come, the Messiah, whose name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, the mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace. He it is who shall reign on the throne of David, he it is who shall redeem Israel."
Slowly up the hillside toiled the shepherds to the tent of Berachah, their chief, who rose to greet them eagerly.
"What think you of the wonder night and of the sign?" he queried. "Are we not above all others honored, thus to learn of the Messiah's coming!"
"Yea, and Berachah," replied their spokesman, Simon, "believest thou not that we should worship the infant King! Let us now go to Bethlehem, and see this thing which has come to pass."
A murmur of protest came from the edge of the circle, and one or two turned impatiently away, whispering of duty toward flocks, and the folly of searching for a new-born baby in the city of Bethlehem. Hardheaded, practical men were these, whose hearts had not been touched by vision or by song.
The others, however, turned expectantly toward Berachah, awaiting his decision. "Truly," said Jude, "the angel of the Lord hath given us the sign in order that we might go to worship Him. How can we then do otherwise? We shall find Him, as we have heard, lying in a manger. Let us not tarry, but let us gather our choicest treasures to lay at His feet, and set out without delay across the hills toward Bethlehem."
"Oh, my father," whispered Madelon, "permit me to go with thee." Berachah did not hear her, but turned and bade the men gather together their gifts.
"I, too, father?" asked Madelon. Still Berachah said nothing. Madelon slipped back into the tent, and throwing her arms around Melampo, her shepherd dog, whispered in his ear.
Soon the shepherds returned with their gifts. Simple treasures they were,—a pair of doves, a fine wool blanket, some eggs, some honey, some late autumn fruits. Berachah had searched for the finest of his flock,—a snow-white lamb. Across the hills toward Bethlehem in the quiet, star-lit night they journeyed. As they moved silently along, the snow beneath their feet was changed to grass and flowers, and the icicles which had dropped from the trees covered their pathway like stars in the Milky Way.
Following at a distance, yet close enough to see them, came Madelon with Melampo at her heels. Over the hills they travelled on until Madelon lost sight of their own hillside. Farther and farther the shepherds went until they passed David's well, and entered the city. Berachah led the way.
"How shall we know?" whispered Simon. And the others answered, "Hush, we must await the sign."
When at last they had compassed the crescent of Bethlehem's hills, they halted by an open doorway at a signal from their leader. "The manger," they joyfully murmured, "the manger! We have found the new-born King!"
One by one the shepherds entered. One by one they fell on their knees. Away in the shadow stood the little girl, her hand on Melampo's head. In wonder she gazed while the shepherds presented their gifts, and were permitted each to hold for a moment the newborn Saviour.
Melampo, the shepherd dog, crouched on the ground, as if he too, like the ox and the ass within, would worship the Child. Madelon turned toward the darkness weeping. Then, lifting her face to heaven, she prayed that God would bless Mother and Baby. Melampo moved closer to her, dumbly offering his companionship, and, raising his head, seemed to join in her petition. Once more she looked at the worshipping circle.
"Alas," she grieved, "no gift have I for the infant Saviour. Would that I had but a flower to place in His hand."
Suddenly Melampo stirred by her side, and as she turned again from the manger she saw before her an angel, the light from whose face illumined the darkness, and whose look of tenderness rested on her tear-stained eyes.
"Why grievest thou, maiden?" asked the angel.
"That I come empty-handed to the cradle of the Saviour, that I bring no gift to greet Him," she murmured.
"The gift of thine heart, that is the best of all," answered the angel. "But that thou mayst carry something to the manger, see, I will strike with my staff upon the ground."
Wonderingly Madelon waited. From the dry earth wherever the angel's staff had touched sprang fair, white roses. Timidly she stretched out her hand toward the nearest ones. In the light of the angel's smile she gathered them, until her arms were filled with flowers. Again she turned toward the manger, and quietly slipped to the circle of kneeling shepherds.
Closer she crept to the Child, longing, yet fearing, to offer her gift.
"How shall I know," she pondered, "whether He will receive this my gift as His own?"
Berachah gazed in amazement at Madelon and the roses which she held. How came his child there, his child whom he had left safe on the hillside? And whence came such flowers! Truly this was a wonder night.
Step by step she neared the manger, knelt, and placed a rose in the Baby's hand. As the shepherds watched in silence, Mary bent over her Child, and Madelon waited for a sign. "Will He accept them?" she questioned. "How, oh, how shall I know?" As she prayed in humble silence, the Baby's eyes opened slowly, and over His face spread a smile.
Out on the endless purple hills, deep in the clasp of somber night, The shepherds guarded their weary ones— guarded their flocks of cloudy white, That like a snowdrift in silence lay, Save one little lamb with its fleece of gray.
Out on the hillside all alone, gazing afar with sleepless eyes, The little gray lamb prayed soft and low, its weary face to the starry skies: "O moon of the heavens so fair, so bright, Give me—oh, give me—a fleece of white!"
No answer came from the dome of blue, nor comfort lurked in the cypress-trees; But faint came a whisper borne along on the scented wings of the passing breeze: "Little gray lamb that prays this night, I cannot give thee a fleece of white."
Then the little gray lamb of the sleepless eyes prayed to the clouds for a coat of snow, Asked of the roses, besought the woods; but each gave answer sad and low: "Little gray lamb that prays this night, We cannot give thee a fleece of white."
Like a gem unlocked from a casket dark, like an ocean pearl from its bed of blue, Came, softly stealing the clouds between, a wonderful star which brighter grew Until it flamed like the sun by day Over the place where Jesus lay.
Ere hushed were the angels' notes of praise the joyful shepherds had quickly sped Past rock and shadow, adown the hill, to kneel at the Saviour's lowly bed; While, like the spirits of phantom night, Followed their flocks—their flocks of white.
And patiently, longingly, out of the night, apart from the others,—far apart,— Came limping and sorrowful, all alone, the little gray lamb of the weary heart, Murmuring, "I must bide far away: I am not worthy—my fleece is gray."
And the Christ Child looked upon humbled pride, at kings bent low on the earthen floor, But gazed beyond at the saddened heart of the little gray lamb at the open door; And he called it up to his manger low and laid his hand on its wrinkled face, While the kings drew golden robes aside to give to the weary one a place. And the fleece of the little gray lamb was blest: For, lo! it was whiter than all the rest!
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In many cathedrals grand and dim, whose windows glimmer with pane and lens, Mid the odor of incense raised in prayer, hallowed about with last amens, The infant Saviour is pictured fair, with kneeling Magi wise and old, But his baby-hand rests—not on the gifts, the myrrh, the frankincense, the gold— But on the head, with a heavenly light, Of the little gray lamb that was changed to white.