THE LEGEND OF THE BABOUSHKA
A CHRISTMAS BALLAD
“There’s a star in the East!” he cried,
Jasper, the gray, the wise,
To Melchior and to Balthazar
Up-gazing to the skies.
“Last night from my high tower
I watched it as it burned,
While all my trembling soul
In awe and wonder yearned.
For I know the midnight heavens;
I can call the stars by name—
Orion and royal Ashtaroth
And Cimah’s misty flame.
I know where Hesper glows,
And where, with fiery eye,
Proud Mars in burning splendor leads
The armies of the sky.
But never have I seen
A star that shone like this—
The star so long foretold
By sage and seer it is!
When first I, sleepless, saw it
Slow breaking through the dark—
Nay, hear me, Balthazar,
And thou, O Melchior, hark!—
When first I saw the star
It bore the form of a child,
It held in its hand a sceptre,
Or the cross of the undefiled.
Lo! somewhere on the earth
It shines above His rest—
The Royal One, the Babe,
On mortal mother’s breast.
Now haste we forth to find Him—
To worship at His feet,
To Him of whom the prophets sang
Bearing oblations meet!”
Then the Three Holy Kings
Went forth in eager haste,
With servants and with camels,
Toward the desert waste.
Ah! knew they what they bore?
Gold for the earthly king—
Frankincense for the God—
Myrrh for man’s suffering.
With breath of costly spices
And precious gums of Isis,
The desert air was sweet,
As on they fared by day and night
Judea’s King to greet.
The strange star went before them,
They followed where it led;
“’Twill guide us to His presence,”
Jasper, the holy, said.
They crossed deep-flowing rivers,
They climbed the mountains high,
They slept in dreary places
Under the lonely sky.
One day, where stretched the desert
Before them far and wide,
They saw a smoke-wreath curling
A spreading palm beside;
And from a lowly dwelling,
On household cares intent,
A woman gazed upon them,
In mute bewilderment.
“O come with us!” cried Melchior,
And ardent Balthazar,
“We go to find the Christ-child,
Led by yon blazing star!
Thou knowest how the prophets
His coming long foretold;
We go to kneel before Him
With gifts of myrrh and gold.”
But she, delaying, answered,
“My lords, your words are good,
And I your pious mission
Have gladly understood,
Yet I, ere I can join you,
Have many things to do:
I must set my house in order,
Must spin and bake and brew.
Go ye to find Messiah!
And when my work is done
I will your footsteps follow,
Mayhap ere set of sun.”
Across the shining desert
The slow train passed from sight;
She set her house in order,
She bleached her linen white.
With busy hands she labored
Till all at last was done—
But thrice the moon had risen,
And thrice the lordly sun!
Then bound she on her sandals,
Her pilgrim staff she took;
With bread of wheat and barley,
And water from the brook;
And forth she went to find Him—
The babe Emmanuel,
Who should be born in Bethlehem
By David’s sacred well.
All that long day she journeyed;
She scanned the desert wide,
In all its lonely reaches
There was no soul beside—
No track to guide her onward,
No footprints in the sand,
Only the vast, still spaces
Wide-stretched on either hand!
Night came—but where the Wise Men
Had seen His burning star,
No glorious sign beheld she
Clear beaming from afar,
Though Orion and Arcturus
Shone bright above her head,
And up the heavenly arches
Proud Mars his legions led!
* * * * *
She did not find the Christ-child.
’Tis said she seeks Him still,
Over the wide earth roaming
With swift, remorseful will.
Her thin white locks the dew-fall
Of every clime has wet—
In palace and in hovel
She seeks Messiah yet!
In every child she fancies
The Hidden One may be,
On each bright head she gazes
The mystic crown to see.
She twines the Christmas garlands,
She lights the Christmas fires,
She leads the joyful carols
Of all the Christmas choirs;
She feeds the poor and hungry,
And on her tender breast
She soothes all suffering children
To softest, sweetest rest.
Attend her, holy Angels!
Guard her, ye Cherubim!
For whatsoe’er she does for these
She does it as to Him!
DAYBREAK
AN EASTER POEM
Mary Magdalenè,
At the break of day,
Wan with tears and watching
Hasted on her way;
Bearing costly spices,
Myrrh, and sweet perfume,
Through the shadowy garden
To the Master’s tomb.
Slowly broke the gray dawn:
On her head the breeze
Shook a rain of dew-drops
From the cypress-trees.
Rose and lily parted
As to let her pass,
And the violets blessed her
From the tender grass.
Little heed she paid them;
Christ, the Lord, was dead;
All at last was over,
All at last was said.
What of hope remainèd?
Black against the sky,
Calvary’s awful crosses
Stretched their arms on high!
Mary Magdalenè
Made her bitter moan:
“From the sealèd sepulchre
Who shall roll the stone?”
Swift she ran, her spirit
Filled with awe and fear;
Wide the door stood open
As her feet drew near!
All the place was flooded
With a radiance bright;
Forth into the darkness
Streamed a holy light.
Down she stooped, and peering
The dread tomb within,
Saw a great white angel
Where the Lord had been!
Sore she cried in anguish:
“Who hath him betrayed?
They have taken away my Lord!
Where is he laid?”
“Nay,” the shining angel,
Calmly smiling, said—
“Why seek ye the living
Down among the dead?
He is not here, but risen!”
All her soul stood still;
Through her trembling pulses
Ran a conscious thrill.
“Mary!” said a low voice;
“Rabboni!” answered she.
Then life was brought to light
And immortality!
Mary Magdalenè,
First of woman born
To see the clear light streaming
O’er the hills of morn;
First to hail the Lord Christ,
Conqueror of Death,
First to bow before Him
With abated breath;
First to hear the Master
Say—“From Death’s dark prison,
From its bonds and fetters,
Lo! I have arisen!
Now to God, my Father—
Mine and yours—I go;
And because I live
Ye shall live also!”
Didst thou grasp the meaning?
Know that Death was dead?
That the seed of woman
Had bruised the serpent’s head?
Didst thou know Messiah
The gates of hell had broken,
And life unto its captives
Once for all had spoken?
O! through all the ages,
Every son of man,
Be he slave or monarch,
Born to bliss or ban—
Lord, or prince, or peasant,
Jester, sage, or seer,
Wife, or child, or mother,
Priest, or worshipper—
Through the grave’s lone portals
Soon or late had passed,
But no sign or token
Back to earth had cast!
In Ramah was a voice heard
Sounding through the years—
Rachel for her children
Pouring sighs and tears;
Rizpah for her slain sons
Woful vigils keeping;
David for young Absalom
In the chamber weeping!
All earth’s myriad millions
To their dead had cried,
Empty arms outreaching
In the silence wide,
Yet from out the darkness
Came nor word, nor sound,
As the long ranks vanished
In the black profound—
Came no word till Mary
Heard the Angel say—
“Christ the Lord is risen;
The Lord Christ lives to-day!”
From the empty sepulchre
Streamed the Light Divine;
Grave where is thy victory?
Where, O Death, is thine?
Mary Magdalenè,
Hope is born again;
Clear the Day-star rises
To the eyes of men.
Lo! the mists are fleeing!
Shine, O Olivet,
For the crown of promise
On thy brow is set!
Lift your heads, ye mountains!
Clap your hands, ye hills!
Into rapturous singing
Break, ye murmuring rills!
Shout aloud, O forests!
Swell the song, O seas!
Wake, resistless ocean,
All your symphonies!
Wave your palms, O tropics!
Lonely isles, rejoice!
O ye silent deserts,
Find a choral voice!
Winds, on mighty trumpets,
Blow the strains abroad,
While each star in heaven
Hails its risen Lord!
“Alleluia! Alleluia!”—
How the voices ring!
“Alleluia! Alleluia!”
Earth and heaven sing!
Alleluia! Christ is risen!
Chant his praise alway!
From the sealèd sepulchre
Christ is risen to-day!