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 grass the multitude 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 grass 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 grassy shores 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 passing 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 breasts were grey as pearl and whose necks shone purple and grass-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.

So Jesus called to the birds.

“Come,” He cried; and they came.

Seven came flying from the left, from the side of the angel beautiful as Night.  Seven came flying from the right, from the side of the angel beautiful as Morning.