walk very slowly down the winding road, and often stop to look back to
the hilltop where the thick-clustered houses of the little town stand
so clear and white against the blue-black sky. Yonder lies Bethlehem,
bathed in soft, silvery starlight which cleanses it from every trace of
violence and bigotry and crime, and paints only pleasant memories of
love and valor and hope.
There the lonely heart of the Moabitess found its haven. There the
sweet singer of Israel set to melodious measures the story of the
fields and the mountains and the divine Shepherd’s care. There a
wondrous Child was born, for whose sake wise men and tender women
left home and friends across the sea, that they might dwell near the
hallowed, humble spot of His Nativity. Within the vague, dark shadow
of that ancient church, the noblest-born of earth have gathered to do
homage to the Lord of lords and King of kings. And across the stillness
of the night there seem to echo again the sturdy shouts of dauntless
warriors who made the mountains ring with their triumphant cry of
faith, “God wills it! God wills it!”
Yes, God has willed it all, even in the hardest, darkest hour of
Bethlehem’s long history. Before our lingering steps lie the noisy
bazaars of Jerusalem and the busy, practical, modern world to which we
must so soon return. But we have been to Bethlehem; and across all the
troublous ages, bursting from every shining star, and drowning with its
sweet music the perplexities of our own weary lives, there rings the
glad refrain of the Angel’s Song—
GLORY TO GOD IN THE HIGHEST, AND ON
EARTH PEACE, GOOD WILL TOWARD
MEN.