JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY

Sleep, Thou little Child of Mary: 
    Rest Thee now. 
Though these hands be rough from shearing
    And the plough,

Yet they shall not ever fail Thee,
When the waiting nations hail Thee,
Bringing palms unto their King. 
    Now—­I sing.

Sleep, Thou little Child of Mary,
    Hope divine. 
If Thou wilt but smile upon me,
    I will twine
Blossoms for Thy garlanding. 
Thou’rt so little to be King,
    God’s Desire! 
    Not a brier
Shall be left to grieve Thy brow;
    Rest Thee now.

Sleep, Thou little Child of Mary. 
  Some fair day
Wilt Thou, as Thou wert a brother,
  Come away
Over hills and over hollow? 
All the lambs will up and follow,
Follow but for love of Thee. 
  Lov’st Thou me?

Sleep, Thou little Child of Mary;
  Rest Thee now. 
I that watch am come from sheep-stead
  And from plough. 
Thou wilt have disdain of me
When Thou’rt lifted, royally,
Very high for all to see: 
  Smilest Thou?

THE FIRST CHRISTMAS ROSES

ADAPTED FROM AN OLD LEGEND

The sun had dropped below the western hills of Judea, and the stillness of night had covered the earth.  The heavens were illumined only by numberless stars, which shone the brighter for the darkness of the sky.  No sound was heard but the occasional howl of a jackal or the bleat of a lamb in the sheepfold.  Inside a tent on the hillside slept the shepherd, Berachah, and his daughter, Madelon.  The little girl lay restless,—­sleeping, waking, dreaming, until at last she roused herself and looked about her.

“Father,” she whispered, “oh, my father, awake.  I fear for the sheep.”

The shepherd turned himself and reached for his staff.  “What nearest thou, daughter!  The dogs are asleep.  Hast thou been burdened by an evil dream?”

“Nay, but father,” she answered, “seest thou not the light?  Hearest thou not the voice?”

Berachah gathered his mantle about him, rose, looked over the hills toward Bethlehem, and listened.  The olive trees on yonder slope were casting their shadows in a marvellous light, unlike daybreak or sunset, or even the light of the moon.  By the camp-fire below on the hillside the shepherds on watch were rousing themselves.  Berachah waited and wondered, while Madelon clung to his side.  Suddenly a sound rang out in the stillness.  Madelon pressed still closer.

“It is the voice of an angel, my daughter.  What it means I know not.  Neither understand I this light.”  Berachah fell on his knees and prayed.

“Fear not:  for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.  For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.  And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.”