Christmas in Legend and Story | Page 9

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!
* * * * *
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.

THE HOLY NIGHT
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING
We sate among the stalls at Bethlehem; The dumb kine from their
fodder turning them, Softened their horned faces To almost human
gazes Toward the newly Born: The simple shepherds from the star-lit
brooks Brought visionary looks, As yet in their astonied hearing rung
The strange sweet angel-tongue: The magi of the East, in sandals worn,
Knelt reverent, sweeping round, With long pale beards, their gifts upon
the ground, The incense, myrrh, and gold These baby hands were
impotent to hold: So let all earthlies and celestials wait Upon thy royal
state. Sleep, sleep, my kingly One!

THE STAR BEARER
EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN
There were seven angels erst that spanned Heaven's roadway out
through space, Lighting with stars, by God's command, The fringe of
that high place Whence plumèd beings in their joy, The servitors His
thoughts employ, Fly ceaselessly. No goodlier band Looked upward to
His face.
There, on bright hovering wings that tire Never, they rested mute, Nor
of far journeys had desire, Nor of the deathless fruit; For in and through
each angel soul All waves of life and knowledge roll, Even as to nadir
streamed the fire Of their torches resolute.
They lighted Michael's outpost through Where fly the armored brood,
And the wintry Earth their omens knew Of Spring's beatitude; Rude
folk, ere yet the promise came, Gave to their orbs a heathen name,
Saying how steadfast in men's view The watchful Pleiads stood.
All in the solstice of the year, When the sun apace must turn, The seven
bright angels 'gan to hear Heaven's twin gates outward yearn: Forth
with its light and minstrelsy A lordly troop came speeding by, And
joyed to see each cresset sphere So gloriously burn.
Staying his fearless passage then The Captain of that host Spake with
strong voice: "We bear to men God's gift the uttermost, Whereof the
oracle and sign Sibyl and sages may divine: A star shall blazon in their
ken, Borne with us from your post.
"This night the Heir of Heaven's throne A new-born mortal lies! Since
Earth's first morning hath not shone Such joy in seraph eyes." He spake.
The least in honor there Answered with longing like a prayer,-- "My
star, albeit thenceforth unknown, Shall light for you Earth's skies."
Onward the blessed legion swept, That angel at the head; (Where seven
of old their station kept There are six that shine instead.) Straight
hitherward came troop and star; Like some celestial bird afar Into
Earth's night the cohort leapt With beauteous wings outspread.
Dazzling the East beneath it there, The Star gave out its rays: Right
through the still Judean air The shepherds see it blaze,-- They see the
plume-borne heavenly throng, And hear a burst of that high song Of
which in Paradise aware Saints count their years but days.
For they sang such music as, I deem, In God's chief court of joys, Had

stayed the flow of the crystal stream And made souls in mid-flight
poise; They sang of Glory to Him most High, Of Peace on Earth
abidingly, And of all delights the which, men dream, Nor sin nor grief
alloys.
Breathless the kneeling shepherds heard, Charmed from their first rude
fear, Nor while that music dwelt had stirred Were it a month or year:
And Mary Mother drank its flow, Couched with her Babe divine,--and,
lo! Ere falls the last ecstatic word Three Holy Kings draw near.