Star over
Bethlehem
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Poems and Holiday Stories
Illustrations by Elise Wrigley
For Hydie
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Star over Bethlehem
A Greeting
STAR OVER BETHLEHEM
A Wreath for Christmas
THE NAUGHTY DONKEY
Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh
THE WATER BUS
IN THE COOL OF THE EVENING
Jenny by the Sky
PROMOTION IN THE HIGHEST
The Saints of God
THE ISLAND
The Road of Dreams
A MASQUE FROM ITALY
BALLADS
DREAMS AND FANTASIES
OTHER POEMS
Poems
THINGS
PLACES
LOVE POEMS AND OTHERS
VERSES OF NOWADAYS
About the Author
Praise
Other Works
Back Ad
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
STAR OVER BETHLEHEM
A Greeting
Praise to the Yule Log!
Leap, Flames, merrily.
Hail to the Wassail Bowl!
Bubble, Wine, rosily!
In the Manger lies the Child;
Asses, Oxen, braying, lowing,
Cackling Hens and Cocks a’crowing.
Overfull the Inn to-night,
Up above a star shines bright,
Shepherds kneel beside their fold,
Wise Men bring their gifts of Gold,
Angels in the Sky above
Trumpet forth God’s gift of Love.
Waken, children, one and all,
Wake to hear the trumpet call,
Leave your sleeping, ’tis the Day,
Christmas, glorious Christmas Day!
Star over Bethlehem
Mary looked down at the baby in the manger. She was alone in the stable except for the animals. As she smiled down at the child her heart was full of pride and happiness.
Then suddenly she heard the rustling of wings and turning, she saw a great Angel standing in the doorway.
The Angel shone with the radiance of the morning sun, and the beauty of his face was so great that Mary’s eyes were dazzled and she had to turn aside her head.
Then the Angel said (and his voice was like a golden trumpet):
“Do not be afraid, Mary …”
And Mary answered in her sweet low voice:
“I am not afraid, Oh Holy One of God, but the Light of your Countenance dazzles me.”
The Angel said: “I have come to speak to you.”
Mary said: “Speak on, Holy One. Let me hear the commands of the Lord God.”
The Angel said: “I have come with no commands. But since you are specially dear to God, it is permitted that, with my aid, you should look into the future …”
Then Mary looked down at the child and asked eagerly:
“Into his future?”
Her face lit up with joyful anticipation.
“Yes,” said the Angel gently. “Into his future … Give me your hand.”
Mary stretched out her hand and took that of the Angel. It was like touching flame—yet flame that did not burn. She shrank back a little and the Angel said again:
“Do not be afraid. I am immortal and you are mortal, but my touch shall not hurt you …”
Then the Angel stretched out his great golden wing over the sleeping child and said:
“Look into the future, Mother, and see your Son …”
And Mary looked straight ahead of her and the stable walls melted and dissolved and she was looking into a Garden. It was night and there were stars overhead and a man was kneeling, praying.
Something stirred in Mary’s heart, and her motherhood told her that it was her son who knelt there. She said thankfully to herself: “He has become a good man—a devout man—he prays to God.” And then suddenly she caught her breath, for the man had raised his face and she saw the agony on it—the despair and the sorrow … and she knew that she was looking on greater anguish than any she had ever known or seen. For the man was utterly alone. He was praying to God, praying that this cup of anguish might be taken from him—and there was no answer to his prayer. God was absent and silent …
And Mary cried out:
“Why does not God answer him and give him comfort?”
And she heard the voice of the Angel say:
“It is not God’s purpose that he should have comfort.”
Then Mary bowed her head meekly and said: “It is not for us to know the inscrutable purposes of God. But has this man—my son—has he no friends? No kindly human friends?”
The Angel rustled his wing and the picture dissolved into another part of the Garden and Mary saw some men lying asleep.
She said bitterly: “He needs them—my son needs them—and they do not care!”
The Angel said: “They are only fallible human creatures …”
Mary murmured to herself: “But he is a good man, my son. A good and upright man.”
Then again the wing of the Angel rustled, and Mary saw a road winding up a hill, and three men on it carrying crosses, and a crowd behind them and some Roman soldiers.
The Angel said: “What do you see now?”
Mary said: “I see three criminals going to execution.”
The left hand man turned his head and Mary saw a cruel crafty face, a low bestial type—and she drew back a little.
“Yes,” she said, “they are criminals.”
Then the man in the centre stumbled and nearly fell, and as he turned his face, Mary recognised him and she cried out sharply:
“No, no, it cannot be that my son is a criminal!”
But the Angel rustled his wing and she saw the three crosses set up, and the figure hanging in agony on the centre one was the man she knew to be her son. His cracked lips parted and she heard the words that came from them:
“My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”
And Mary cried out: “No, no, it is not true! He cannot have done anything really wrong. There has been some dreadful mistake. It can happen sometimes. There has been some confusion of identity; he has been mistaken for someone else. He is suffering for someone else’s crime.”
But again the Angel rustled his wings and this time Mary was looking at the figure of the man she revered most on earth—the High Priest of her Church. He was a noble-looking man, and he stood up now and with solemn hands he tore and rent the garment he was wearing, and cried out in a loud voice:
“This man has spoken Blasphemy!”
And Mary looked beyond him and saw the figure of the man who had spoken Blasphemy—and it was her son.
Then the pictures faded and there was only the mudbrick wall of the stable, and Mary was trembling and crying out brokenly:
“I cannot believe it—I cannot believe it. We are a God-fearing straight-living family—all my family. Yes, and Joseph’s family too. And we shall bring him up carefully to practise religion and to revere and honour the faith of his fathers. A son of ours could never be guilty of blasphemy—I cannot believe it! All this that you have shown me cannot be true.”
Then the Angel said: “Look at me, Mary.”
And Mary looked at him and saw the radiance surrounding him and the beauty of his Face.
And the Angel said: “What I have shown you is Truth. For I am the Morning Angel, and the Light of the Morning is Truth. Do you believe now?”
And sorely against her will, Mary knew that what she had
been shown was indeed Truth … and she could not disbelieve any more.
The tears raced down her cheeks and she bent over the child in the manger, her arms outspread as though to protect him. She cried out:
“My child … my little helpless child … what can I do to save you? To spare you from what is to come? Not only from the sorrow and the pain, but from the evil that will blossom in your heart? Oh indeed it would have been better for you if you had never been born, or if you had died with your first breath. For then you would have gone back to God pure and unsoiled.”
And the Angel said: “That is why I have come to you, Mary.”
Mary said: “What do you mean?”
The Angel answered: “You have seen the future. It is in your power to say if your child shall live or die.”
Then Mary bent her head, and amidst stifled sobs she murmured:
“The Lord gave him to me … If the Lord now takes him away, then I see that it may indeed be mercy, and though it tears my flesh I submit to God’s will.”
But the Angel said softly:
“It is not quite like that. God lays no command on you. The choice is yours. You have seen the future. Choose now if the child shall live or die.”
Then Mary was silent for a little while. She was a woman who thought slowly. She looked once at the Angel for guidance, but the Angel gave her none. He was golden and beautiful and infinitely remote.
She thought of the pictures that had been shown her—of the agony in the garden, of the shameful death, of a man who, at the hour of death, was forsaken of God, and she heard again the dreadful word Blasphemy …
And now, at this moment, the sleeping babe was pure and innocent and happy …
But she did not decide at once, she went on thinking—going over and over again those pictures she had been shown. And in doing so a curious thing happened, for she remembered little things that she had not been aware of seeing at the time. She saw, for instance, the face of the man on the right-hand cross … Not an evil face, only a weak one—and it was turned towards the centre cross and on it was an expression of love and trust and adoration … And it came to Mary, with sudden wonder—“It was at my son he was looking like that …”
And suddenly, sharply and clearly, she saw her son’s face as it had been when he looked down at his sleeping friends in the garden. There was sadness there, and pity and understanding and a great love … And she thought: “It is the face of a good man …” And she saw again the scene of accusation. But this time she looked, not at the splendid High Priest, but at the face of the accused man … and in his eyes was no consciousness of guilt …
And Mary’s face grew very troubled.
Then the Angel said:
“Have you made your choice, Mary? Will you spare your son suffering and evildoing?”
And Mary said slowly:
“It is not for me, an ignorant and simple woman, to understand the High Purposes of God. The Lord gave me my child. If the Lord takes him away, then that is His will. But since God has given him life, it is not for me to take that life away. For it may be that in my child’s life there are things that I do not properly understand … It may be that I have seen only part of a picture, not the whole. My baby’s life is his own, not mine, and I have no right to dispose of it.”
“Think again,” said the Angel. “Will you not lay your child in my arms and I will bear him back to God?”
“Take him in your arms if it is God’s command,” said Mary. “But I will not lay him there.”
There was a great rustling of wings and a blaze of light and the Angel vanished.
Joseph came in a moment later and Mary told him of what had occurred. Joseph approved of what Mary had done.
“You did right, wife,” he said. “And who knows, this may have been a lying Angel.”
“No,” said Mary. “He did not lie.”
She was sure of that with every instinct in her.
“I do not believe a word of it all,” said Joseph stoutly. “We will bring our son up very carefully and give him good religious instruction, for it is education that counts. He shall work in the shop and go with us to the Synagogue on the Sabbath and keep all the Feasts and the Purifications.”
Looking in the manger, he said:
“See, our son is smiling …”
And indeed the boy was smiling and holding out tiny hands to his mother as though to say “Well Done.”
But aloft in the vaults of blue, the Angel was quivering with pride and rage.
“To think that I should fail with a foolish, ignorant, woman! Well, there will come another chance. One day when He is weary and hungry and weak … Then I will take him up to the top of a mountain and show him the Kingdoms of this World of mine. I will offer him the Lordship of them all. He shall control Cities and Kings and Peoples … He shall have the Power of causing wars to cease and hunger and oppression to vanish. One gesture of worship to me and he shall be able to establish peace and plenty, contentment and good will—know himself to be a Supreme Power for Good. He can never withstand that temptation!”
And Lucifer, Son of the Morning, laughed aloud in ignorance and arrogance and flashed through the sky like a burning streak of fire down to the nethermost depths …
In the East, three Watchers of the Heavens came to their Masters and said:
“We have seen a Great Light in the Sky. It must be that some great Personage is born.”
But whilst all muttered and exclaimed of Signs and Portents a very old Watcher murmured:
“A Sign from God? God has no need of Signs and Wonders. It is more likely to be a Sign from Satan. It is in my mind that if God were to come amongst us, he would come very quietly …”
But in the Stable there was much fun and good company. The ass brayed, and the horses neighed and the oxen lowed, and men and women crowded in to see the baby and passed him from one to the other, and he laughed and crowed and smiled at them all.
“See,” they cried. “He loves everybody! There never was such a Child …”
A Wreath for Christmas
When Mary made a Holly wreath
The blood ran red—ran red.
Another Mary wove the Thorns
That crowned her Master’s head.
But the Mistletoe was far away
Across a Western sea,
And the Mistletoe was wreathed around
A Pagan Apple Tree.
In Glastonbury grew a Thorn,
When Joseph came to trade.
And the Holly Bush was common growth
In every wooded glade.
But the Mistletoe was sacred where
The Sun arose each morn,
And the Mistletoe knew nothing of
The Babe in Bethlehem born.
Saint Patrick sailed the stormy seas
To preach the Cross—and so
He found Eve’s Tree—with serpent coiled—
And hung with Mistletoe.
“I bid thee, Serpent, leave this Land,
And open, Plant, thine ears.”
He preached the Tale of Christ—and Lo!
The Mistletoe wept tears …
The Holly bush has berries red,
Blood-red upon each bough.
The Thorn it blooms with golden flowers,
And Kissing’s fashion now.
What will you give to Christ the Lord?
O! Pagan Bough so green?
“The Tears that I have shed for One
Whom I have never seen …”
Let Man then give his life for Man,
The blood-red berries say,
And Men have love for fellow men,
Where Gorse flowers bloom so gay.
And the Tears of Man be shed for Man
Where Mistletoe gleams white.
Come, pity, love and sacrifice …
God bless us all this night!
The Naughty Donkey
Once upon a time there was a very naughty little donkey. He liked being naug
hty. When anything was put on his back he kicked it off, and he ran after people trying to bite them. His master couldn’t do anything with him, so he sold him to another master, and that master couldn’t do anything with him and also sold him, and finally he was sold for a few pence to a dreadful old man who bought old worn-out donkeys and killed them by overwork and ill treatment. But the naughty donkey chased the old man and bit him, and then ran away kicking up his heels. He didn’t mean to be caught again so he joined a caravan that was going along the road. “Nobody will know who I belong to in all this crowd,” thought the donkey.
These people were all going up to the city of Bethlehem, and when they got there they went into a big Khan full of people and animals.
The little donkey slipped into a nice cool stable where there was an ox and a camel. The camel was very haughty, like all camels, because camels think that they alone know the hundredth and secret name of God. He was too proud to speak to the donkey, so the donkey began to boast. He loved boasting.
“I am a very unusual donkey,” he said, “I have foresight and hindsight.”
“What is that?” said the ox.
“Like my forelegs—in front of me—and my hind legs—behind me. Why, my great great, thirty-seventh time great grandmother belonged to the Prophet Balaam, and saw with her own eyes the Angel of the Lord!”
But the ox went on chewing and the camel remained proud.
Then a man and a woman came in, and there was a lot of fuss, but the donkey soon found out that there was nothing to fuss about, only a woman going to have a baby which happens every day. And after the baby was born some shepherds came and made a fuss of the baby—but shepherds are very simple folk.
But then some men in long rich robes came.
“V.I.P.s,” hissed the camel.
“What’s that?” asked the donkey.
“Very Important People,” said the camel, “bringing gifts.”
The donkey thought the gifts might be something good to eat, so when it was dark he began nosing around. But the first gift was yellow and hard, with no taste, the second made the donkey sneeze, and when he licked the third, the taste was nasty and bitter.
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