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.

THE LITTLE GRAY LAMB

ARCHIBALD BERESFORD SULLIVAN

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!

* * * * *

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.