A Little Book of Profitable Tales | Page 2

vines and ferns and mosses and other
humble residents of the forest loved it dearly.
"How I should like to see the angels!" sighed the little tree, "and how I
should like to see the stars dancing among the clouds! It must be very
beautiful."
As the vine and the little tree talked of these things, the cedars watched
with increasing interest the wonderful scenes over and beyond the
confines of the forest. Presently they thought they heard music, and
they were not mistaken, for soon the whole air was full of the sweetest
harmonies ever heard upon earth.
"What beautiful music!" cried the little tree. "I wonder whence it
comes."
"The angels are singing," said a cedar; "for none but angels could make
such sweet music."
"But the stars are singing, too," said another cedar; "yes, and the
shepherds on the hills join in the song, and what a strangely glorious
song it is!"
The trees listened to the singing, but they did not understand its
meaning: it seemed to be an anthem, and it was of a Child that had been
born; but further than this they did not understand. The strange and
glorious song continued all the night; and all that night the angels
walked to and fro, and the shepherd-folk talked with the angels, and the
stars danced and carolled in high heaven. And it was nearly morning
when the cedars cried out, "They are coming to the forest! the angels
are coming to the forest!" And, surely enough, this was true. The vine
and the little tree were very terrified, and they begged their older and
stronger neighbors to protect them from harm. But the cedars were too
busy with their own fears to pay any heed to the faint pleadings of the
humble vine and the little tree. The angels came into the forest, singing
the same glorious anthem about the Child, and the stars sang in chorus
with them, until every part of the woods rang with echoes of that

wondrous song. There was nothing in the appearance of this angel host
to inspire fear; they were clad all in white, and there were crowns upon
their fair heads, and golden harps in their hands; love, hope, charity,
compassion, and joy beamed from their beautiful faces, and their
presence seemed to fill the forest with a divine peace. The angels came
through the forest to where the little tree stood, and gathering around it,
they touched it with their hands, and kissed its little branches, and sang
even more sweetly than before. And their song was about the Child, the
Child, the Child that had been born. Then the stars came down from the
skies and danced and hung upon the branches of the tree, and they, too,
sang that song,--the song of the Child. And all the other trees and the
vines and the ferns and the mosses beheld in wonder; nor could they
understand why all these things were being done, and why this
exceeding honor should be shown the little tree.
When the morning came the angels left the forest,--all but one angel,
who remained behind and lingered near the little tree. Then a cedar
asked: "Why do you tarry with us, holy angel?" And the angel
answered: "I stay to guard this little tree, for it is sacred, and no harm
shall come to it."
The little tree felt quite relieved by this assurance, and it held up its
head more confidently than ever before. And how it thrived and grew,
and waxed in strength and beauty! The cedars said they never had seen
the like. The sun seemed to lavish its choicest rays upon the little tree,
heaven dropped its sweetest dew upon it, and the winds never came to
the forest that they did not forget their rude manners and linger to kiss
the little tree and sing it their prettiest songs. No danger ever menaced
it, no harm threatened; for the angel never slept,--through the day and
through the night the angel watched the little tree and protected it from
all evil. Oftentimes the trees talked with the angel; but of course they
understood little of what he said, for he spoke always of the Child who
was to become the Master; and always when thus he talked, he caressed
the little tree, and stroked its branches and leaves, and moistened them
with his tears. It all was so very strange that none in the forest could
understand.
So the years passed, the angel watching his blooming charge.
Sometimes the beasts strayed toward the little tree and threatened to
devour its tender foliage; sometimes the woodman came with his axe,

intent upon hewing down the straight and comely thing; sometimes the
hot, consuming breath of drought swept from