The little grey lamb, and other Christmas poems

On Bethlehem's hills on a winter night, Shepherds kept watch in the cold star-light. The sheep, safely folded, were fast asleep: There was nought to trouble their slumber deep. But one little grey lamb was filled with woe For he longed to be white as the winter snow.

Then sudden the heavens grew bright like noon, With a light which was neither of sun nor moon. And music rained down ineffably sweet, As the shepherds sprang to their trembling feet. But the sheep slumbered on through that wonderful night, Save the little grey lamb who longed to be white.

Then forth from the skies came an angel's voice: "Good tidings, ye shepherds! God bids you rejoice. In Bethlehem's inn the Child ye shall see, Who is born to make all men happy and free." Then swiftly they journeyed the Christ Child to find, And the little grey lamb followed closely behind.

From his little white heart rose a timid prayer: "Is it only for men, O Baby most fair, Thou hast cleansing from all that is sinful and bad? Wilt Thou not heal me and make me glad?" So he followed the shepherds and entered with them, When they came to the stable of Bethlehem.

They entered, they worshipped, and homeward returned, While a solemn joy in their bosoms burned: But the little grey lamb nestled close in the hay, Quite close to the crib where the Baby lay. And a tiny hand stole forth from the bed, And rested awhile on the little lamb's head.

At that touch there passed a wonderful thrill Through the lamb as he lay by the crib so still: He felt all his sadness melting away, As the night mists scatter at break of day. The little grey lamb in that holy glow Knew he was white as the driven snow.

Jerusalem, 1917

No incident of the Great War gripped the imagination of the Christian world so much as the taking of Jerusalem in December, 1917, by General (Lord) Allenby. Though an incident in war, it yet had in it the promise of peace, since no shot was fired against the Holy City and the victorious commander entered the city on foot without parade of war.

Jerusalem 1917

O Mother, with the halo round thy brow, Yet conscious of the Cross which looms so near-- What is the grim surprise which greets thee now? What spectre grips thy maiden heart with fear?

What is it that, with half-averted face, Thou seest sweep across the holy land, Where all the towers and domes of David's race From age to age in silent witness stand?

How ill, meseems, become those sacred fields The tramp of warriors and the blast of war, The gleam of steel and shock of swords and shields, The noise of cannon booming from afar!

Is this the peace the angels sang when high The glory burst upon the shepherds lone? Is this the promised dawn when all the sky Flamed with good news from Heaven's Almighty Throne?

Yet constant shines the Star from out the dark, Heaven's finger touching earth with silvery ray. Though Time tell of despair and misery stark, Eternity assures us of the day.

O Mother with the sword within thy breast, The Child Divine within thine arms may see, E'en from thy lap, the issue sure, the rest For man appointed after victory.

And when, in later years, He shall ascend The painful Cross, He shall be satisfied, And all the travail and the strife shall blend In manhood, saved, redeemed, beatified.

O Child, in Mother's arms thus nurs'd and held, Give us from love like her's to wake and rise, Till from the Cross we see the dark dispell'd, The City of God descending from the skies.

Give us Thy courage firm, Thy patience long, Thy willingness to suffer for the right; O give us of Thy faith, Thy love so strong, The vision of the victory of the right.

Jerusalem, encompassed with arms, Shall yet become the city of the free, And discord, hatred, war, and war's alarms Shall disappear for all eternity.

III.

The Quest of the Christ

The picture this poem was intended to illustrate represents one in vision beholding the Wise Men on their camels journeying towards the goal of their quest.

The Quest of the Christ

In the dark night, while all around me sleep, My questing thoughts go backward through the years, To find and bring some worthy thing Shall waken life from out its slumber deep-- Shall scatter lowering clouds of doubts and fears, And crown Love King.

Taking old forms from tales of days long dead, Like slow beasts padding softly through the night-- Yet, far or nigh, I shall descry Somewhere my Bethlehem--so piloted By tinkling bells of hope that catch the light Of star-lit sky.

I know not where my search for Christ shall end-- The kings and priests I question answer not. Perhaps their will is still to kill:-- Perchance He seeks to walk with me as friend:-- Or, all unknown, shares the despised one's lot, Rejected still.

Yet am I sure that I shall know the sign; My heart shall wake and cry: "This--This is He!" Him shall I find, however blind And slow to recognize the hand divine. He shall His own unfailing witness be:-- Him shall I find.

And, oh, what joy the news abroad to speed, That men from sorrow as from toil who sleep May hear the song that Heaven's throng Brings down to earth, and so be comforted For woes that make strong men like women weep, And all the wrong.

Then all the dark shall melt into the dawn; Like jewels of the New Jerusalem, Earth's streets shall shine with light divine, And all her roof-tops gladden with the morn; Then every home shall be a Bethlehem Where Christ is born.

IV.

What the Wise Men Saw

Back to their homes returned, the Wise Men three Reported on the King they went to see. Said they: "The star our guide, the King we found; Now are we hither come His praise to sound." Then said the Wisest of them all: "'Tis well; What was He like? First let the youngest tell."

"What was He like? Why, this my task Is surely easy, answering what you ask. He was so young: His was the spirit of youth, Ardent and hopeful, forward-faced; in truth, His courage seemed to leap from height to height, Like golden sunshine driving back the night. So I my beating heart obeyed; My fine gold at His feet I laid."

"And you, our next in years, what did you see In this your King? Pray, tell, what like was He?"

"What was He like? Yea, sir, although Not as my brother saw Him saw I so. His was our manhood's prime; from out His eyes Experience looked, and wisdom: sacrifice Waited the altar whereon lifted high, Bruised but not crushed, He saw His destiny. So drew I incense from my store, Bruised too, but odorous the more."

"Well said! But you, our eldest, tell us, pray: What was He like? How saw you Him that day?"

"What was He like? I saw Him sage With all the gifts that spring from ripest age; Eyes that beheld the eternal; youth and prime Both clean forgot, with all the things of time; Beyond all earthly effort, passion, strife; Beyond all heart-ache, pain or lust of life. I could not Him my myrrh deny, In readiness with Him to die."

Then some, less wise than meet, looked up and smiled. Surely, they said, our brethren were beguiled, And took, for all their questing, but the thing In their own hearts for Him, the Lord, the King.

"Nay, Nay!" the Wisest answered; "for I deem The King fulfils for each his dearest dream, Hear me, for though these mortal eyes are blind, Within my soul I seem the King to find.