I.MEMORIES.
“It came upon the midnight clear,That glorious song of old,From angels bending near to earthTo touch their harps of gold.”
“It came upon the midnight clear,That glorious song of old,From angels bending near to earthTo touch their harps of gold.”
“It came upon the midnight clear,That glorious song of old,From angels bending near to earthTo touch their harps of gold.”
“It came upon the midnight clear,
That glorious song of old,
From angels bending near to earth
To touch their harps of gold.”
So sang the clear, full, childish voice. Singularly melodious, thrilling, sympathetic, it floated up and out, seeming to envelope in a tender, joyous harmony all who came within its range.
In the library “Father dear” sat with pen suspended and moistened eyes, as the notes of the Christmas Carol were borne in upon him. The thronging memories carried him back to that wonderful Christmas morning eight years before, when the sweet singer was born.
She had come in a flood of golden sunlight, when Christmas bells were chiming, happy voices singing, and the joy of life seemed rampant upon all theearth. The “doctor friend” had come to him in this same library and had said:
“The Christmas day has brought to you and your house God’s blessing—the gift of a little child.”
Together they had gone to that quiet, peaceful room, and found mother with the baby girl upon her arm. “A tiny image of your own dear self,” he had fondly said, and with the passing years, the child had kept that strong likeness to her mother, both in character and features.
Later he had gone about the house attending to the many things they had planned for others. Like two children, they had always kept many of the Christmas customs: hung up their stockings, had a huge Christmas tree for all the household, remembering every one in a way that would bring the most real joy, given to each child friend some longed for treasure, fed the birds and put a lighted candle in the window to guide the Christ Child. Each Christmas they had tried to bring comfort to some sorrowing heart, sharing their joy, letting their light shine.
Everywhere he had turned that day, he had been met with smiling faces, hearty hand clasps, and more than one fervent “God bless you, sir,” from hearts that could tell of burdens lifted or eased, and of lives turned from bitterness to sweetness. Truly, it had been a day of rejoicing.
At sunset he had sat with the little mother again, telling her about the day as together they watched from her window the ever changing glory of the sea. “No sorrowing one has knocked at our door to-day,”he said gently, “our Christmas candle has brought only joy.” And she had softly quoted:
“Then be ye glad, good people,This night of all the year,And light up all your candles,For His star it shineth clear.”
“Then be ye glad, good people,This night of all the year,And light up all your candles,For His star it shineth clear.”
“Then be ye glad, good people,This night of all the year,And light up all your candles,For His star it shineth clear.”
“Then be ye glad, good people,
This night of all the year,
And light up all your candles,
For His star it shineth clear.”
Cuddling their baby close, she had looked with shining eyes from the child to him and said earnestly, “She is a little Christmas Star. Who knows what message of joy she brings, what midnight gloom she may dispel?”
Then he had gone, at her request, to light the Christmas tree, and the countless candles throughout the house, had given loving greetings and messages from her and baby to all the household gathered in the big hall and had stopped to sing one Christmas Carol that she might hear. It was as his voice soared upward to her,
“Peace on earth, good will to man,From Heaven’s all gracious King,”
“Peace on earth, good will to man,From Heaven’s all gracious King,”
“Peace on earth, good will to man,From Heaven’s all gracious King,”
“Peace on earth, good will to man,
From Heaven’s all gracious King,”
that she had gone, gone on the wings of light and song, leaving him dumb, alone in the dark.
Later, Jeanie, faithful friend, had brought to him, “the wee Lassie, sir,” and drawing the shades high, had flooded the room with moonlight; then left him alone with his little comforter.
Long he had stood looking out on the golden path of light and glory that seemed to stretch from the great Beyond, across the sea, through the window, and to encircle him and the tiny daughter, his blessing, his joy, his little “Christmas Star.” She had indeed lighted him through the dark way, comforted him, helped him to accept the cup of sorrow with fortitude.
She had been christened “Dorothy” for her grandmother, and had grown in grace and beauty. There had been no lack of loving care, willing hearts and hands had served her; first, for love of the mother, who gave her birth, later for love of herself.
The song ceased. Then quick dancing footsteps, the opening and closing of the library door, and the singer was by his side. Throwing her arms about his neck, she covered his face with kisses. Stepping back and holding his face between her hands, she looked long and lovingly at him. “Father, dear, I have kissed the sorry lines all away except those back of your eyes.” Then settling herself in his arms she fell silent,—still for a time.
“Father, dear, the Christmas Carols seem always to make you sorrowful. I have noticed, too, when we sing the carols in church, that so many people look sad. Often, I have seen tears in their eyes. Only the children look really happy. Why is that, father?”
“It was a message of joy that came upon the midnight clear, wasn’t it?” Then nestling closer, she went on softly: “You know I was singing the carol to mother just now, the one she loved the best,because I could just feel her happy thought, and I wanted to be happy with her, then suddenly, I thought you would be remembering, so I came.”
A thoughtful pause, and then—“I wonder why she seems so far away to you! Perhaps you shut her out thinking that she is dead, and don’t understand that she is with us in the thought of love she left all about us. You know that is what mother lettered her own self over the center window in my nursery, ‘God is Love.’
“Jeanie said she watched her paint it and the other one too: ‘Thou shalt not be afraid,’ and while she painted, she explained to Jeanie. Sometimes, it seems as if I could hear her explaining to me. Of course, I can not tell what she says,—it isn’t words exactly,—but it’s just as if that love were a great white cloud, wrapping me round and round wherever I am, and holding me safe from harm,—like your arms, father, dear. You see,—love is just,—why it’s everything. Jeanie says, ‘love never dies.’”
The twilight shadows were falling fast around them, but the Bethlehem Star of peace and joy had risen in both their hearts. Father dear had caught a new note in the Christmas Carol. “Love never dies.”