The Gift Divine: A Christmas Poem

THE GIFT DIVINh. A CHRISTMAS POEM.

(For the Improvement Era.)

O'er Palestine the hush of night falls softly. On Lebanon and Hermon, caps of snow Are crimsoning 'neath the last faint shaft of day, Their sides, sombre in walnut, cedar, oak, and pine Seen from Gerizim's height, Gennesaret Flows indigo and silver; mirror-like, Reflects the miracle of day's decline With the star-herald of the night to be. The hills and glens of Gilead pulseless sleep, In purpling gloom; in Kedron's turbid brook, Par past the grave of many a sleeping Jew, Plow darkling waters, sweet as Carmel's springs. April has covered all the lower hills "With blossom-laden turf; and vineyards droop, Just budding into fruit. The meadows lie Like emerald velvet, and the barley fields Bend heavy-headed for the reaper's hand.

Jerusalem, the golden, flashes back The sun's goodnight from gilded minaret And temple dome. Camel and dragoman, Horseman, footman and beggar, Gentile, Jew, Are hastening through the gateways, ere they close; And Roman soldiers pace, armed cap-a-pie, The proud yet conquered City of the Jews. Each clanging bell, each bugle note, is hushed; Each booth is closed; hawker and chaff erer

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Have ceased their money-getting, for the nonce, And sought the quiet of their own courtyard. The evening meal is done; and rich, and poor, Go out upon their housetops, or enjoy The balmy breezes from their garden seats. Come, let us leave The man in priestly vestments to his thoughts; The sages, to their argument; — and so, The lovers to their love; maternal care, To contemplation of her sleeping brood; The drunken soldier, to his ribald song; The maiden, to her prayer. The world moves on, Unknowing and unmindful of the gift Our God this night bestows upon the world.

All through the warm spring day had caravans And cavalcades of Jews, upon the road, Passed each his way, unto his native place, To be recorded, as was Caesar's will. And many passed (as we the angels pass, Unseeing and unknowing every day,) Joseph and Mary; he of quiet mien, A little stern to others, but to her All tenderness, and sweet self-abnegation. [Hail, Joseph! thou, unlettered and unsung, Except through peerless Mary: thou to whom Was sent a trial few men could endure, And keep their faith and truth. All honor be Unto thy humble trust, thy prayerful heart; Fit guardian of the Virgin and her Child!] The purple twilight deepens into night, — And still the two plod on, Mary, the Blessed, On her humble perch, weary and heavy-eyed; And foot-sore, patient Joseph by her side. From Bethlehem, the "City on a Hill," Of which the prophets spoke, gleamed twinkling lights To welcome them. Above shone countless stars, Like sweet familiar faces, smiling down As if they knew her secret, and rejoiced. From cumbering flesh, her spirit lifts in prayer:

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"The mystery is upon me! See, oh, God, I give myself again into thy hands. Be with me in my trial, Lord." And lo, The very gloaming of the fragrant eve Broods round her as a mantle; soft descends The Spirit's benediction, filling all The Virgin-heart with thoughts unutterable. Timid, yet trusting, trembling, yet secure, She feels, through all her being, swift the pang Of speedy, God-attended motherhood. What though there is among the haunts of men No shelter for them; that a humble cave, Cut out from living stone to shelter beasts From icy blasts ©f winter, first gave forth, Upon the budding summer's ambient air, The cry of Bethlehem's Babe, oft prophesied By holy men of old! What though a manger, Empty now of winter's garnered store, To fodder beasts of burden, cradled first This gracious Ransom! Man gives not that the heavens have to give, Nor can the sons of men from Gods withhold Their own creations. The earth is thine, oh Lord The lowing cattle on a thousand hills; Yet thou hast chosen of thine own free will Thy birth among the lowly. And to him Who hath exalted them of low degree, Our praises ring forever! Even the rocks Are friendly to the Babe; the very earth Is gala-decked, in robes of grass and flowers, To bid him welcome; and the vision, closed To worshipers of mammon, opens forth To humble shepherds, on Judea's hills, Who watch their bleating flocks by night, near by The verdant fields where Ruth and Boaz met.

Clean of hand, pure of heart, shepherds are watching Their flocks in the hills, safe as lambs in the fold! Clean of word, pure of thought, softly they're telling Of promises made by Isaiah of old; The hours beguiling, by each to each talking

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Of mercies Jehovah hath shown in the past; How Israel, in bondage hath oft been delivered, And wondering how long present bondage must last; When the deep-galling yoke of the Romans be broken, And the last hateful spear of the Roman be cast.

There is prayer in their hearts; and upon their lips, pleading Unto him who can only their nation repair, Who only can give to the bondman his freedom, Respect for the aged, safe-guard to the fair: "The king that was promised delayeth his coming, Our spirits are sick with the hope that's deferred. To Abraham's God we so humbly have prayed, Oh, grant thou, Jehovah, our pleadings be heard; That the enemy's power, from this hour be abrade, And the honor that's promised on Zion conferred."

See! Lo, where a moment before loomed the darkness, A star, large and brilliant, they note in the sky; A center of radiance, glowing and gleaming, And spreading its glory around and on high. The darkness is changing to glow of the morning; Before them is standing an angel of light! A robe of fair whiteness his body adorning, His countenance grand, and benign as 'tis bright; And his voice, strange and sweet, as the cadence of waters, As it falls on the ears, on this wonderful night! — "Fear not: 'tis joyful tidings that I bring To you and all the world; for Christ, the King And Savior of mankind, this day is born * In Bethlehem of Judah. And the sign, (That ye may know the words I speak are true) A manger cradles him whom ye would view; In God's own way, he answers all your prayer; In swaddling-clothes the Infant Christ lies there."

Scarce hath the glorious messenger proclaimed His matchless tidings, and the Christ-child named, When all the vibrant air with music fills,