A Christmas Legend

Through snowy streets one Christ­mas Eve

In win­ter bleak and wild

Wandered

with bare and ach­ing feet

A lit­tle strang­er child.

How bright­ly through each win­dow pane

Shone gay and gleam­ing rooms

Where stood the spark­ling lamp lit trees

Laden with Christ­mas blooms!

Alas! no com­fort could they bring

This lit­tle lone­ly heart;

Fast fell his tears to see the joy

In which he had no part.

“Each child has for his own to­day

A lit­tle tree and light;

I on­ly have no gift at all

Out in the freez­ing night.

“In my dear home so far away

One al­so burned for me:

My bro­thers

sis­ters round its gleam

Shouted and danced for glee.

“Now all the joy is fled away

Broken the hap­py band.

And I

for­got­ten and alone

In this cold

for­eign land.

“Will no kind mo­ther let me in

For sake of char­ity?

Is there not

by so ma­ny hearths

One lit­tle nook for me?

I ask not

from your la­den trees

One sin­gle gift or toy

Only a place to sit apart.

And see the child­ren’s joy.

Timid he knocked at gate and door

But all were deaf with­in:

None came

no gen­tle voice or hand

To bid him wel­come in.

The par­ents gave the Christ­mas gifts

And on their child­ren smiled:

Each thought of his own lit­tle ones;

None of the lone­ly child.

O ho­ly

gra­cious Christ

he cried

No par­ent have I here;

No help is left

save only Thee

O Je­sus blest and dear!

He rubbed his lit­tle frost-chilled hand

And

stiff with cold and pain

Lingered to watch the case­ments’ glow

Crouched in a nar­row lane.

God hears the pray­er that man de­nies—

For see! a love­ly sight

A glory clear­er than the sun

Made dark­est al­ley bright.

While

glid­ing soft in snow-white robe

There came ano­ther child:

Like mu­sic from the heav’n­ly land

Sounded His ac­cents mild—

I am the blessè­d Christ

He said

“Once born a child like thee:

Poor lit­tle lone for­sak­en one

Thou art most dear to Me.

A tree more lov­ely far than all

Which thou hast seen tonight

I will My­self up­rear for thee

Under the sky’s clear height.

Thus gra­cious­ly the Christ Child spoke

And waved to Heav’n His hand

When lo! more fair than earth’s best blooms

Behold: the tree did stand!

How full of clus­tered stars it gleamed.

With branch­es wide out­spread

While won­drous ra­di­ance

far and near

Its Heav’n-lit ta­pers shed!

The child looked up with deep wide eyes;

Strange awe his breast did fill:

Then

gaz­ing on the heav’n­ly sight

The lit­tle heart grew still.

It seemed to him a love­ly dream;

Till

bend­ing from the tree

Fair white winged an­gels reached their hands

And drew him lov­ing­ly:

And

from earth’s nar­row

dark­some ways

By sin and woe de­filed

The Sa­vior’s gra­cious arms once more

Took up a lit­tle child.

He lay

a stiff and life­less form.

In morn­ing grey and chill:

And they who found him

won­dering saw

His pale lips smil­ing still.

Thank God! no more in cold and pain

The lit­tle wan­derer sighs;

And soon for­got­ten is earth’s grief

In peace­ful par­adise!