19, 1913. CHRISTMAS WISHES. [Written for the Watchman. ] To you, my brother in the east, To you, my sister in the west, Whether now laughing at the feast Or by an adverse fate oppressed, My heart indites this little lay To wish you joy this Christmas Day. Let now our kindness run afield And Leip distress wherever found; Let the good will in Christ revealed Join hand in hand the world around; Let no vain pride or foolish fray - Set limits to our Christmas Day. O Love Divine, the sin forgive If we thy pleadings have withstood, And help us now thy law to live Of universal brotherhood. Help us, O Prince of Peace, we prav, To make each day a Christmas Day! wings watching for the young quail _ little rabbits, hidden among the The pilgrims plodded on in the heat. Companies of soldiers with glittering ame Scans with Jaden mules jin- ing r groups and bold beggars, met and ul travelers 1913. C.C2 THE LOST BOY. BY HENRY VAN DYKE That a child should be lost in Pales- tine, in the days when Augustus Caesar was Lord of the World, was no strange who crowded swarmed and streamed through its nar- ed row staat, Ani, moving multitudes, ebbing owing in restless tides, there and dark, might be swept away and swallowed up, not onl “for a few days but for ever. But it was strange that this Boy whom my reverie follows now on the dim path of his earliest adventure—it was passing strange that this very Boy should have been lost even for a few hours. For he was the darling of his parents, the treasure of the household, a lad be- loved by all who knew him. His young mother hung on him with passionate, mystical joy and hope. He was the apple of hereye. Deep in her soul she kept the memory of angelic words which had carried him under her heart—words | 3 : : the Boy, tossing his head ligh which made her believe that her first-born Tusk He Firm 10 Wlba ing 20d ' such thick robes. would be the morning-star of Israel and a light unto the Gentiles. So she cher- ished the Boy and watched over him |! with tender, unfailing care, as her most | J | | palace rose above the trees. The fourth precious possession, her living, breathing, growing jewel. When he reached the age of twelve, and was old enough to make his first journey to the Temple and take part in the national feast of the Passover, she clad him in the made him ready for the four days pil- grimage from Nazareth to Jerusalem. It was a camping-trip, a wonder-walk, full of variety, with a spice of danger and a feast of delight. The Boy was the joy of the journey. His keen interest in all things seen and heard waslike a refreshing spring of water to the older pilgrims, who had so often traveled the same road that they had for- gotten that it might be new every morn- ing. His unwearying vigor and pure gladness as he leaped down the hill-sides, or scrambled among the rocks far above the path, or roamed through the fields filling his hands with flowers, was like a merry song that cheered the long miles of the way. He was glad to be alive, and it made the others glad to look at him. There were eighty or ninety kinsfolk and neighbors, plain rustic men and women, in the little company that set out from Nazareth. The men carried arms to protect the caravan from rob- bers or marauders on the way. As they wound slowly down the steep, stony way to the plain of Esdraelon, the Boy ran ahead, making short cuts, turning aside to find a partridge's nest Swong the bushes, leaping from rock to rock like a young lle, or poising on the edge of some cliff in sheer delight of his own sure-footedness. His lithe body was outlined against the sky; his deep blue eyes (like those of his mother, who was a maid of Bethle- hem) sparkled with the joy of living; his long, auburn hair was lifted and tossed | by the wind of April. But his mother’s look followed him anxiously, and her pi heart often leaped in her throat. “My Son,” she said, as they took their noon-meal in the valley at the foot of dark Mount Gilboa, “you must be more careful Your feet might slip.” | HS i puith Jug motiied > the Then the Master came before me, Saw, 8 inns in the tree Svethend all ol] Hey Sow r a A 1 Li lights began 0 twinkle in the Siw. the And His face was grave and fair, rested by his | oarsal His breath came Ia Pc, Un, Cod, ae, mde fr sucninsiher ‘chy we ln ch “Thee times I came to you to-day Bo Bra not oll Shine BOE rocS ¢ nat ad Diack lower : Dey Joes Be Toot And craved your pity and care. adventure. He | for the top of a HEL IO8 think Lain Sovelass, st might house? —where are we going to-mor- Three times you sent me onward, ale wi Py he fhe tched, row § andes the walls of Bethshan, a fi “To-morrow,” she answered, “you will Unhelped and uncomforted. often jound | in lis whl HOR the Shove the river Jordan, the town lotne | sip DUL OW I 18 the sieeptime.” Let And the blessing you might have had was lost, Wobld return tn time forthe next vist big and threatening over the little camp | night in Nazareth—but very softly, not And your chance to serve has fled.” he Temple, stepped the . 91 he Galilean pilgrims, But they kept | to disturb the others—for you know this tents in the dark. A foot-path led Rom oe J un. Baly of the Foalm is not one of the songs of the pil- “0 Lord, dear Lord, forgive me, the shadowy oliye-grove, | up the hil Pe rorone "cursed, The tents were | So the mother and her Child sang. to- How could I know it was thee." wa heavenly lights rose over the mountains gel Ne will nh fay me down and Sisep, My}very soul was shamed and bowed, Soyraak was dane: fee though the grass, a ns. Bove Sear | Barthes Luni Slee we Sell WIS” And He said. “The sin is pardoned, along one of the sheep-trailg that crosed . ne words ; pastures. Then pilgrims: | 1t was like a bit Of home in a far Xe Dov. But the blessing is lost to thee. She High, slons a the long ridge, fis wl hina eyes is Jie fi The next day was full of wonder and For failing to comfort the least of mine, and passed sed the Summit, funning | lightly My help cometh from the Lord, excitement. It was the first day of the You have failed to comfort Me.”’ Prounded, rocky knoll. There he sat down Who made heaven and earth Feast, and the myriads of pilgrims crowd- by the little bushes to wait for sunrise. He will not suffer thy foot to stumble, ed through the gates and streets of the = | Far beyond the wrinkled wilderness of He who keepeth thee will not slumber. city, all straining toward the inclosure of | and the buyers and sellers of animals for it away to the great stone altar in the Tekoa, and the Dead Sea, and the moun- Behold, He who guardeth Israel the Temple, wi whose walls two hun- | sacrifice were bargaining and ng; | middle of the court. tain-wall of Moab, the rim of the sky Will neither slumber nor sleep.” Jred thousand people sould be gathered. | and the thousands of e ng | The Boy could not see what h was already tinged with silvery i: On every side Boy saw new and | and p one ; and the follow- then, for the place and | The fading of the stars traveled aay. Then they drew their woolen cloaks over | strange things; soldiers in their armor, | ers of the and the Sadducees busy. But he heard the bl of | upward, and the rising of the rose of their heads and rested on the ground in [and shops full of costly wares; richly were disputing; and on many faces he | trumpets, and the clashing of bals, | dawn followed it, until all the east was peace. dressed Sadducees with their servants |saw that strange look which speaks of a | and the chanting of ne ions ya softly glowing, and the deep blue of the Yortwo days thei following; Jews from far-away countries, | fire in the heart, so that it seemed like 2 | clouds of smoke went up from the hidden soltly plowing, was transfused with tur- de ley of te Jordan, ong he lve | wri aged Chto 0 cand | a ho Soha lam fr the | A, 1 Ro SoU was pad ah | ite, It Dare nh, Tf land that stretched from the mountains painted women of the street, and beggars Passover sacrifice, at one of the stalls in With fed, Shira long idle, on ks 0 ie rough Sich where the river was | and outcasts of the lower quarters, and the outer court, and was it on aches $10 priest brought back the lingered Bright along ihe easier pesha through broad fields Of ripe barley and | in thew coc voncir Tetinues, and priests his shoulder. He pressed on Sats Shor Tomiie 40% 1 hidden, wheat, vacre tie eal ha n their snowy robes. the crowd to the Beautiful Gate, the Boy | "uig ipic our little lamb?” asked the | 80d, like the crest of a long, mounting Tipe A q scul The family from Nazareth passed slow- and his mother following until they came his father wave. Shoots and of radiance oie rer al (he hick growing 3 through the andthe Boy, to the Court of Women. Here the moth- Zoya took it again upon his sprang upward from the glittering edge. . ‘orchards bewildered - | er stayed, was W—a Wom- £ rose-foam -spra; dlive-groves on the foot-hills, and clear led to get to the Temple, where he |an must not go further, But the Boy The father nodded. aI Iu. gam and | the ray glistening cleander thickets. wily ough | thought must be quiet and | was now “a sonof the Commandment,” | “It was a very one,” said the | rier of the hills the sun surged royally— ers sprang in very until corner, al | menae ower Gout: Sih He ponders, om | ocho i father, through the | Boy. Did have'to dle forar® | looked. the world. The luminous. tide spikes of hollvhock. scarlet and | alcoves, he found worse | Court There ously. “Surely,” . { anemones, clusters of mignonette, rock- than ever. For there the money-changers | lamb oe ye to a priest, oS lle offered on the Me. i had to be fioogied the gray, buildings of Bethany and men. oy What did those riders want?" he ask- “All we have,” answered the man. But it is very little,” said the Boy. “Nothing but our clothes and some food for our journey. If they were hungry, wi did they not ask of us?” man ughed. “These are not the kind that ask,’ hi sF 2% Ef fields, he came to hands full of the long la and pale-blue spathes of lillies. “Look, mother,” he cried“are they not fine—like the clothes of a king?” “What do you know of kings?” she answered smil “These are only wild lillies of the field. But a Sen king, like Solomon, has robes of silk, and jewels on his neck and his fingers, and a isd ie rments of youth and | | | big crown of gold on his head.” “But that must be very heavy,” said tly. “It Besides, I think the lillies are really prettier. They look judt as if they were glad to grow in the e The third night they camped among the palm-groves and heavy-odored gar- dens of Jericho where Herod's splendid they climbed the wild, steep, robber- haunted road from the Jordan valley to the highlands of Judea, and so came at sundown to their camp-ground among friends and neighbors on the closely tent- ed slope of the Mount of Olives, over against Jerusalem. What an evening that was for the Boy! His first sight of the holy city, the city of the great king, the city lifted up and exalted on the sides of the north, beautiful for situation, the joy of the whole earth! He had dreamed of her glory, as he listened at his mother’s knee to the wonder-tales of David and Solo- mon and the brave adventures of the fighting Maccabees. He had prayed for the peace ot Jerusalem every night, as he kneeled by his bed and lifted his Joung hands toward the holy place. He ha tried a thousand times to picture her strength and her splendor, her marvels and mysteries, her multitude of houses and her vast bulwarks, as he strayed among the humble cottages of Nazareth lor sat in the low doorway of his own | home. { Now his dream had come true. He | looked into the face of Jerusalem, just | across the deep, narrow valley of the | Kidron, where the shadows of the eve: ning were rising among the tombs. The huge battlemented walls, encircling the double mounts of Zion and Morian—the vast huddle of white houses, coyeling hill and hollow with their flat roofs | standing so close together that the streets | were hidden among them—the towers, | the colonnades, the terraces—the dark bulk of the Roman castle—the marble llars and glittering roof of the Temple in Hie broad court on he Ji: it was a city of iron a ng clear against the oft saffron | and rose | and et of the western sky. | { i “UONAWARES.” They sav the Master is coming, To honor the town to day: And none can tell at what house or home The master will choose to stay. Then I thought, while my heart beat wildly, What if He should come to mine? How I would strive to entertain, And honor the guest Divine! And straight I turned to toiling, To make my home more neat, I swept, and polished, and garnished, And decked it with blossoms sweet. I was troubled for fear the Master Might come ere my task was done, And I hastened and worked the faster And watched the hurrying sun But right in the midst of my duties, A woman came to my door, She had come to tell me her sorrow, And my comfort and aid to implore; And I said I cannot listen, Nor help you any to day. I have greater things to attend to, So the pleader turned away. And soon there came another, A cripple, thin, pale and gray, And said, ‘Oh let me stop and rest Awhile in your home, I pray; I have traveled far since morning, I am hungry and faint and weak, My heart is full of misery, And comfort, and help I seek.’ And I said, *'I am grieved and sorry, But I cannot help you to-day, I lookfor a great and a noble guest,” And the cripple went away. And the day wore onward swiftly And my task was nearly done. And a prayer was ever in my heart, That the Master to me might come. And I thought, I will spring to meet Him, And treat Him with utmost care, When a little child stood before me, With a face so sweet and fair; Sweet, but with marks of tear-drops, And his clothes were tattered and old, A finger was bruised, and bleeding, And the little bare feet were cold. And I said, I am sorry for you, You are sorely in need of care. But I cannot stop to give it, You must hasten otherwhere, And at the words a shadow Swept o'er his blue veined brow; Some one will clothe and feed you, dear, But I am too busy now. At last the day was ended, And my toil was over and done, My house was swept and garnished, And I watched in the dusk alone. Watched, but no foot fall sounded, No one paused at my gate. No one entered my cottage door, I could only pray and wait. I watched until night had deepened, And the Master had not come, He has entered some other home, I said, My work had better been undone. My task had been for nothing, And I bowed my head and wept; My heart was sore with longing, Yet, in spite of all, I slept. ! our feast | to-night.” ! | the Boy, “must | killed in the Temple? | | Does God like that? How many do 0 were brought to the altar to- i “Tens of thousands,” answered the | father. | | “Itisa great many,” said the Boy,’ ah TIS vag Saough. they | was silent ul ss } | made their way through the Court of the ' | Women and found the mother, and went | | back to the camp on the hillside. That | | night the family ate their Paschal feast, | with their loins girded as if they were going on a journey, in memory of the’ i long-ago flight of the Israelites from ' | Egypt. There was the roasted lamb, | | with bitter herbs, and flat cakes of bread ! ! made without yeast. A cup of wine was ' ' passed around the table four times. The | . Boy asked his father the meaning of all | these things, and the father repeated the : ' story of the saving of the first-born sons : ! of Israel in that far-off night of terror , and death when they came out of Egypt. | While the supper was going on, hymns | were sung, and when it was ended they ‘all chanted together. i according to the law of Moses, i i | “Oh, give thanks to the Lord. for He is good: | | For His loving-kindness endureth forever." So the Boy lay down under his striped i woolen cloak of blue and white, and | drifted toward sleep, glad that he was a i son of Israel, but sorry when he thought | of the thousands of little lambs and the | altar floor splashed with red. He won- | dered if some day God would not give | them another way to keep that feast. | The next day oi the festival was a Sab- ! bath, on which no work could be done. | | But the daily sacrifice of the Temple, and ! ; all the services and songs and benedic- | | tions in its courts, continued as usual | and there was a greater crowd than | within its walls. As the Boy went thi . with his parents they came to a where a little house was beginning | burn, set on fire by an overheated lam | The poor people stood by wringing their ! | hands and watching the flames. i | “Why do you not try to save their! | house?” cried the Boy. | . The father shook his head. | do nothing,” he answered. “They | the teaching of the Pharisees, who say | that it is unlawful to put out a fire on the Sabbath, because it is a labor.” | | A little later the Boy saw a cripple with | | a crutch, sitting in the door of a cottage, | | looking very sad and lonely. | “Why does he not go with the others,” | i asked the Boy, “and hear the music at | the Temple? = That would make him hap- | pier. Can't he walk?” | “Yes,” answered the father, “he can walk on other days; but not on the Sab- i bath, for he would have to carry his | crutch, and that would be labor.” i All the time he was in the Temple, | watching the processions of priests and Levites and listening to the music, the Boy was thinking what the Sabbath meant, and whether it really rested peo- ple and made them happier. The third day of the festival was the offering of the first-firuits of the new year’s harvest. That was a joyous day. A sheaf of ripe barley was reaped and carried into the Temple, and presented before the high altar with incense and music. The priests blessed the people, and the people shouted and sang for glad- ness. The Boy's heart bounded in his breast as he joined in the song and the thought of the bright summer begun, and the birds building their nests, and the flow- ers clothing the hills with beautiful col- ors, and the wide fields of golden grain waving in the wind. He was happy all day as he walked through the busy streets with his parents, buying some things that were needed for the home in Nazareth; and he was happy at night as he lay down under an olive-tree be- side the tent, for the air was warm and ntle, and he fell asleep under the tree, reaming of what he would see and do to-morrow. if 1 i t ' 1 i | © Now comes the secret of the way he was lost—a way so simple that the won- der is that no one has ever dreamed of it before. The three important days of the Pass- over were en and the time had come when those pilgrims who wished to re- turn to their homes might leave Jerusa- lem without offense, though it was more commendable to remain through the full seven days. The people from Nazareth were anxious to be gone—they had a long road to travel—their harvests were waiting. While the Boy, tired out, was sleeping under the tree, the question of ng home was talked out and decided. would break camp at sunrise, and, joining with others of their countrymen, who were tented around them, they would take the road for Gallilee. But the Boy awoke earlier than any one else the next morning. you ' strange it was + making Before the | MOr® ot} i ThE Ee bestow an equal obeyed Him and law. Yet it was splendid, like to give in that way, with No, it was Father-like—and what the had learned from h er—that who made and things was his Father. It was she taught him to use in his Not in the great prayers he learned from the book—the name there was Adonai, the Lord, the Almighty. But in the prayers that he said by “my Father! It made the Boy feel strangely happy strong to say that. The whole world seemed to breathe and glow around him with an invisible pres- ence. For such a Father, for the sake of His love and favor, the Boy felt he could do anything. More than that, his mother had told him of something special that the Father had fol Bim 0 40 jn the world. a the evenings during the j a when they were going BL Temple, she had repeated to him some of the words that the angel-voices had spoken to her heart, and some of the sayings of wise men from the East who came to visit him when he was a baby. She could not understand all the mystery of it; she did not see how it was goin to be brought to pass. He was a Child of poverty and lowliness; not rich, nor learned, nor powerful. But with God ali things were possible. The calling of the eternal Father were more than everything else. It was fixed in he heart that somehow her Boy was sent doa t work for Israel. He was son of God set apart to save his and bring back the glory of Zion. zgii fed ih ; ; ; 2 - her whole misery city, had sunken all the more in the ied pressions of th; it nt ur im ns o : shaip- ena them, Ta I Yel Half. they spring up into life when the quiet hour comes. So the Boy remembered his mother’s words while he lay watching the sunrise. It would be great to make them come true. To help everybody to feel what he felt ying there on the hill-top—that big, free ng of peace and confidence and not being afraid! To make those rob- bers in the Jordon Valley see how they were breaking the rule of the world and burning out their own hearts! To cleanse the Temple from the things that filled it with confusion and pain, and drive away the brawling buyers and seilers who were spoiling his Father's great house! To go among those poor and wretched and sor- rowful folks who swarmed in Jerusalem and teach them that God was their Fath- er too, and that they must not sin and quarrel any more! To find a better way than the priests’ and . Pharisse of people good 0 ter things for Israel—like Moses, like oy like David—or like Daniel, perhaps, who prayed and was not afraid of the lions— or like Elijah and Elisha, who went about Speaking to the people and healing them— [To be Continued. } How the Red Cross Seal Originated. “How did the Red Cross Christmas seal originate?” is a question that is being asked by many during this holiday sea- son. To Jacob Riis, the well-known social worker of New York, and to Miss Emily P. Bissell, the energetic secretary of the Delaware Red Cross, jointly belongs the honor of originating our American Red Cross Christmas seal. In 1909 Mr. Riis’s interest was aroused by the receipt of a Christmas tuberculosis stamp on a letter in the Outlook about this queer looking stamp, and suggested some possible uses for it in this SOS, Miss Bleel} at once saw an opportunity and prepar- ed a stamp, from the sale of which her Society realized $3,000 for tubercul work. So im was she with success that she induced the A Red Cross to take he sale in 108 on a national basis. very little organ- ization and with hardly any attempt at bough a even, es do n, over for anti-tuberculosis work in various parts of the United States. In 1909, with h nization, the sale was and in lio near- je reds stamps used in all the eT LID ro A Nowe one. or seals were first used to 2 free only, 1 one-cent stamps to for 31 Tor cloth bind fog, t Dr. R. N.Y. I ——— . —For high class Job Work come to the WATCHMAN Office.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers