Christmas in Legend and Story Part 7

Next time a caravan pa.s.sed through the desert, one of the travellers saw that the crown of the great palm had withered.

"How can that have happened?" said the traveller. "Have we not heard that this palm should not die before it had seen a King greater than Solomon?"

"Perhaps it has seen Him," answered another wanderer of the desert.

THE HAUGHTY ASPEN

_A German Legend_

NORA ARCHIBALD SMITH

As I went through the tangled wood I heard the Aspen s.h.i.+ver.

"What dost thou ail, sweet Aspen, say, Why do thy leaflets quiver?"

"'Twas long ago," the Aspen sighed-- How long is past my knowing-- "When Mary Mother rode adown This wood where I was growing.

Blest Joseph journey'd by her side, Upon his good staff resting, And in her arms the Heav'nly Babe, Dove of the World, was nesting.

Fair was the mother, s.h.i.+ning-fair, A lily sweetly blowing; The Babe was but a lily-bud, Like to his mother showing.

The birds began, 'Thy Master comes!

Bow down, bow down before Him!'

The date, the fig, the hazel tree, In rev'rence bent to adore Him.

I only, out of all the host Of bird and tree and flower,-- I, haughty, would not bow my head, Nor own my Master's power.

'Proud Aspen,' quoth the Mother-Maid, 'Thy Lord, dost thou defy Him?

When emperors wors.h.i.+p at His shrine, Wilt courtesy deny Him?'

I heard her voice; my heart was rent, My boughs began to s.h.i.+ver, And age on age, in punishment, My sorrowing leaflets quiver."

Still in the dark and tangled wood, Still doth the Aspen quiver.

The haughty tree doth bear a curse, Her leaflets aye must s.h.i.+ver.

THE LITTLE MUD-SPARROWS

_Jewish Legend_

ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS

I like that old, kind legend Not found in Holy Writ, And wish that John or Matthew Had made Bible out of it.

But though it is not Gospel, There is no law to hold The heart from growing better That hears the story told:--

How the little Jewish children Upon a summer day, Went down across the meadows With the Child Christ to play.

And in the gold-green valley, Where low the reed-gra.s.s lay,

They made them mock mud-sparrows Out of the meadow clay.

So, when these all were fas.h.i.+oned, And ranged in rows about, "Now," said the little Jesus, "We'll let the birds fly out."

Then all the happy children Did call, and coax, and cry-- Each to his own mud-sparrow: "Fly, as I bid you! Fly!"

But earthen were the sparrows, And earth they did remain, Though loud the Jewish children Cried out, and cried again.

Except the one bird only The little Lord Christ made; The earth that owned Him Master, --His earth heard and obeyed.

Softly He leaned and whispered: "Fly up to Heaven! Fly!"

And swift, His little sparrow Went soaring to the sky,

And silent, all the children Stood, awestruck, looking on, Till, deep into the heavens, The bird of earth had gone.

I like to think, for playmate We have the Lord Christ still, And that still above our weakness He works His mighty will,

That all our little playthings Of earthen hopes and joys Shall be, by His commandment, Changed into heavenly toys.

Our souls are like the sparrows Imprisoned in the clay, Bless Him who came to give them wings Upon a Christmas Day!

THE CHILDREN OF WIND AND THE CLAN OF PEACE

FIONA MACLEOD

I will tell this Legend as simply but also with what beauty I can, because the words of the old Highland woman, who told it to me,...though simple were beautiful with ancient idiom.

We must go back near twenty hundred years.... It was in the last month of the last year of the seven years' silence and peace: the seventh year in the mortal life of Jesus the Christ. It was on the twenty-fifth day of that month, the day of His holy birth.

It was a still day. The little white flowers that were called Breaths of Hope and that we now call Stars of Bethlehem were so hushed in quiet that the shadows of moths lay on them like the dark motionless violet in the hearts of pansies. In the long swards of tender gra.s.s the mult.i.tude of the daisies were white as milk faintly stained with flusht dews fallen from roses. On the meadows of white poppies were long shadows blue as the blue lagoons of the sky among drifting snow-white moors of cloud. Three white aspens on the pastures were in a still sleep: their tremulous leaves made no rustle, though there was a soundless wavering fall of little dusky shadows, as in the dark water of a pool where birches lean in the yellow hour of the frostfire. Upon the pastures were ewes and lambs sleeping, and yearling kids opened and closed their onyx eyes among the garths of white clover.

It was the Sabbath, and Jesus walked alone. When He came to a little rise in the gra.s.s He turned and looked back at the house where His parents dwelled. Joseph sat on a bench, with bent shoulders, and was dreaming with fixt gaze into the west, as seamen stare across the interminable wave at the pale green horizons that are like the gra.s.sy sh.o.r.es of home. Mary was standing, dressed in long white raiment, white as a lily, with her right hand shading her eyes as she looked to the east, dreaming her dream.

The young Christ sighed, but with the love of all love in His heart. "So shall it be till the day of days," He said aloud; "even so shall the hearts of men dwell among shadows and glories, in the West of pa.s.sing things: even so shall that which is immortal turn to the East and watch for the coming of Joy through the Gates of Life."

At the sound of His voice He heard a sudden noise as of many birds, and turned and looked beyond the low upland where He stood. A pool of pure water lay in the hollow, fed by a ceaseless wellspring, and round it and over it circled birds whose b.r.e.a.s.t.s were grey as pearl and whose necks shone purple and gra.s.s-green and rose. The noise was of their wings, for though the birds were beautiful they were voiceless and dumb as flowers.

At the edge of the pool stood two figures, whom He knew to be of the angelic world because of their beauty, but who had on them the illusion of mortality so that the child did not know them. But He saw that one was beautiful as Night, and one beautiful as Morning.

He drew near.

"I have lived seven years," He said, "and I wish to send peace to the far ends of the world."

"Tell your secret to the birds," said one.

"Tell your secret to the birds," said the other.