Bellefonte, Pa,, December 20, 1929
EE atte,
——
A CHRISTMAS CAROL
The Earth has grown old with its
burden of care,
But at Christmas it always is young;
The heart of the jewel burns lustrous
and fair,
And its soul, full of music, breaks forth
on the air
When the song of the angels is sung.
It is coming, old Earth, it is coming to-
night!
On the snowflakes which cover thy sod
The feet of the Christ-child fali gentle
and white,
And the voice of the Christ-child tells out
with delight
“That mankind are the children of Gad.
On the sad and the
ed and poor,
That voice of the Christ-child shall fall.
And to every blind wanderer open the
door »
lowly, the wretch-
Of a hope that he dared not to dream of
before,
With a sunshine of welcome for all.
The feet of the humblest may walk in the
field
‘Where the feet of the holiest have trod.
This, this is the marvel to mortals re-
vealed
When the silvery trumpets
mas have pealed,
That mankind are the children of God.
—Phillips Brooks.
to OChrist-
THE STORY OF THE
LAST SHEPHERD
The chance watcher of the path
which wound up from the public well
to intercept the main street of the
little town would have seen, at the
time we have in mind, two children,
a boy and a girl. They might have
been brother and sister, so much did
they resemble one anofher. In fact
they were cousins once removed,
descendants of a common great-
grandfather.
They carried on their shoulders
small water-pots which dripped from
full brims with sparkling drops. It
would seem an unfair assignment to
exact from such small children the
task of drawing from the deep well,
and carrying water for the families’
needs; but these were the children
of the poor, and, where all must
work, all must do some tasks which
seem beyond their strength, Half
way up the hill the girl took the pot
from her shoulder and set it down,
“Judah” she said, “I feel tired.
Mother isn’t 'n a hurry. I'm going
to rest a little.”
The boy lifted his pot from its
resting place, and set it carefully
down by the side of that of his cou-
sin. “I will rest, too,” was his only
remark,
Divested of their loads they offer
the stranger a better opportunity to
look at them. And he is struck at
once by the many marks of intelli-
gence and strength of character
which show in every feature. For.
while these children were poor, their
poverty had not stamped out
the signs of native beauty and abil-
ity. They might be water-carriers, i
but they gave promise of a strength |
and grace which, if permitted, would
have become the Ralls of kings. It
was believed by their neighbors that
in their veins flowed the blood of the
ancient rulers of their country. But
they were far from the throne, It
was more a question of clothes suf-
ficient for common needs than trap-
pings for a coronation.
“Esther,” said Judah, “I hope
grandfather will tell us again that
old story he has told so many times
before. He hasn't told it to us since
old Simeon died. What can we do
to get him to tell it?”
And there by the wayside these
two children laid their plans to get
their aged grandsire to relate
again “a twice-told tale.”
“I think we had better be going,
Judah. Mother will be wanting the
water by this time. And anyhow she
will worry, for you know the robbers
have been making raids of late. We
had better go,” And they picked up
‘their burdens, adjusted them care-
fully to their shoulders, and trudg-
ed on.
Before a house they paused a mo-
ment before parting.
“Don’t forget to come over this
evening, as you said Judah!”
“I won't. And we will see if we
can get grandfather to tell the
story.”
The girl went on down the street,
while the boy turned into the court
of his home. Putting down his load
he began to explain to his mother
why he was so long in coming, and
what he and Esther had planned to
do. When he had finished he asked:
“Mother, do you think we can get
grandfather to tell the story?”
“I don’t know, my son. Since the
death of his old friend he doesn’t
seem quite himself. But if he won't
tell it your father can. For we have
all heard it so often that we know
all its features.”
“Yes, I know, mother, but that
isn't like having grandfather tell it.
I think I could tell it myself. But
Esther and I want to get him to tell
it just as he saw it when he was a
lad.”
The mother looked her apprecia-
tion of the child’s desire, and said:
“I will help you to get him to tell it
again, if we can. To-night is the an-
niversary, as you know. And I re-
member how, when we were chil-
dren, we always wanted to get him
to tell what the shepherds saw. He
told it better than any other man of be
the company. I think Esther's moth-
er will help, too.”
In the meantime the boy's com-
panion had gone to her home. En-
tering the court with light step she
came upon an old man jgho was
sleeping in a warm spot by the wall.
Her mother was busy about the du-
ties of the household, and didn’t no-
tice her approach. She was just
turning to go to the gate to look for
her child when she caught the sound
of her feet in the court.
“Esther, you freightened me by
being so long gone after the water.”
“There was no danger, mother,
Judah and I Just rested a little
while by the wayside.”
i
PAINTED BY PLOCKHORST
HER
! liste:
The answer quieted the mother-
fear.
In time the pressing work was
done, and it was Esther's opportun-
ity.
! “Mother,” she began, “Judah and
| 1 were wishing that we might be al-
{lowed to gather in the village chil-
dren of the e would be too
that story about the night he watch-
ed the sheep. This is the same day
of the year, Judah says. And we
want to have him tell us about what
the shepherds saw.”
“Your grandfather hasn't been
quite himself for some time, my
dear. I am afraid that all the chil-
dren of the village woud be too
many, You would make too much
noise. And then I don’t know how
we can get him to tell the story.”
“Let me ask him, mother?”
“Very well. See what he says.”
By this time the grandsire was
awake. The little granddaughter
moved over to his side and laid her
hand trustingly in that of the old
mi
an.
“The dear child,” he muttered.
“How much she looks like Esther.”
“I am Esther grandfather,” she
replied. :
“Histher!” And he put back the
curly hair from her broad forehead,
and looked long at her face.
Shaking his head he added, “No,
no, I remember now. We laid Esth-
er to rest by her baby’s side years
ago, out near where Jacob buried
Rachel. You are little Esther, but
not my Baines.” .
“Let me -be your Esther, won’
you, srandfather 1 And the little
head found its way to the old man’s
heart.
“There, there
I must have
you came to me.
my Esther.”
The child brought him his staff.
It was a shepherd's crook. It had
been his conceit to always use the
rod he had carried with him when
he was strong and able to watch the
| sheep. Taking it in his right hand,
and placing his other hand upon the
shoulder of the child, he rose and
moved with tottering step to a bench
which promised a little more
warmth.
When he was comfortable Esther
dear. Get my staff.
been dreaming when
Of course you are
fGrandfather, Judah and I were
talking awhile ago about you, We
wondered if you wouldn't like to tell
the village children your story this
evening.
“My story!” he exclaimed.
“Yes, your story, that story you
used to tell mother and Aunt Rachel
when they were children, You know
which story I mean.”
“Yes, T know what you mean.
Haven't I ever told it to you?”
“Oh, yes, grandfather; but not for
a good while. And to-night is the
night when it occurred, only long
AE Tonight? OM, 1a 1£7 1 had for-
got, Since Simeon—" The old man’s
eyes filled, and his voice failed. The
child knew what he wanted to say.
“Will we tell the children to come
this evening?”
“Yes, I will try to tell it, This
may be the last time I can bear wit-
ness to the things I saw. You may
bring the children.
The child went skipping from him.
Turning at the gate of the court she
saw that the old man had gripped
his staff with both hands, and had
laid his head upon his outstretched
arms. “He is thinking of the story,”
she said, and went skipping on,
He was thinking of the story;
thinking of that wonderful exper-,
ience which had been his years and
years before, Other men had shared
with him in that strange event. But
he was the last of the group. Be-
ing the youngest of the eompany he
had lived to see the last companion
carried to the t That was Sim-
eon, the son of Benjamin, who had
laid down with him that night as
they watched the sheep. When he
knew that his old friend and com-
panion was dead it had broken his
spirit. “It will kill Grandfather Jo-
selph,” the neighbors said. And it
looked as if it might,
Long after Esther had gone to tell
Judah, and summon the children of
the village, he sat as she had seen
him, with his head upon his arms,
‘his hands upon the staff. Once, as
the busy woman glanced at him, she
saw him lean back and take the
staff to his lips. He let it stay there
long enough to give it a caressing
kiss. He wasn’t worshi ping it; that
the woman knew; but oe so knew
that he regarded that staff as his
most precious treasure. For it had
been in his hand as he walked into
the village on that famous night of
his story. And it was said that the
tiny fingers of a little baby had heen
ut around its crook. It was where
Pao baby fingers may have rested
that his lips touched.
"When he took it away he turned
to her and said: “Miriam, Esther
and Judah are going to bring in the
village children, I am to try to tell
them the story of the plains. I ex-
pect this will be the last time I will
ever tell it. And, if so, it will be the
last time it will be told by any who
knew. For all who were with me
that night have gone to be with
the Shepherd of our souls. I want
to tell the story again, and to the
children, that they may tell to suc-
ceeding children the things we shep-
herds of Bethlehem heard and saw.”
His granddaughter was pleased
with the speech, for it showed that
he was stronger in body and mind
than they had thought. Then, she
too wanted to hear from his lips
once more just what had occurred
that night, now almost seventy-five
years ago. The world had been big
with events in that time, The coun-
try's capital had fallen, and the hope
of becoming the world’s nation was
for the time crushed. The ancient
people were being scattered all over
the earth. But there was nothing
which so filled up the lives of these
humble folks of the ‘village as the
great event which had taken place
in their little town three-quarters of
a cenutry ago, All the actors in
that memorable scene were dead
save this old man. The chief Per-
sonage in the event had died a cruel
death nearly a half century before.
But the woman knew that He was
not dead, but risen and glorified.
But that was the chief event in the
“history of the city of the great King.
The story she and her fellow villag-
ers most loved to hear had to do
with the beautiful event of their
own humble town,
It wasn't long before she was
stopped in her musing by the sound
of children in the street. Esther
was coming back, and Judah was
with her; and a score or more of the
boys and girls of their acquaintance
were at their heels. Behind them
came a straggling company: of older
people who, though not invited, yet
felt that they must hear again the
story which had been told them
when they were children. = For the
story which was promised the young
folks was one which never grew
old,
The children came crowding into
the court. The older people stood
without the gate, but where they
could hear, they hoped.
“Here we are, grandfather,” said
Judah; “And Esther said that you
wanted us to come; for you wanted
to tell again what you saw.”
“My dear boy, the blessing of the
God of your fathers be upon you,
and upon all the children of Bethle-
hem, and upon all children in all
places of His vast dominion. May
you be blessed, and be a bless 3
The children stood with bowed
heads as they received this benedic-
tion. While it was a new feature in
the telling of the storythey gladly
received it; for in some way their
hearts understood that this aged
man was doing them a favor which
they could not measure. There was
a silence in the court and around the
gate after he had spoken.
The old man took the shepherd's
staff in his hands and set it before
him. His eyes rested for a moment
upon the place which he had kissed
awhile before. Then, turning to the
group of children, he said:
“Won't you sing for me? Sing
before I speak, Sing ‘the angels’
song.’ ”
The children understood. In that
company there was but one song in
all the world’s music so named, And
their sweet young voices sang in
unison that song which had dropped
from the skies in the long ago,
“Glory to God in the highest and
on earth peace among men.”
The old man listened until the
last note had died into silence. Then
he said. ‘Let us mow go ‘and see
this thing that is come to pass,
which the Lord hath made known
unto us.”
He was beginning the story by
using almost the identical words he
had employed in that memorable
night. For it was he, the youngest
of the shepherd group, who had tak-
en the messengers at their word,
and proposed the journey to the
place where they saw the sight of the
ages, As he gave utterance to his
own words, there was a movement in
the group of children, and also in
the company of adults which pressed
towards the gate. Something in the
manner, in the tone, had thrilled
them. They must not lose a word.
After he had spoken these words
he was silent again.
“Children,” at last he began, “I
don’t know just how to make it
seem to you. And that is what I
want to do.” And then he seemed
to cast around again for a form into
which to mould his thoughts.
_ “You have all heard me tell this
story more than once,” he began
again. “I believe that its power lies
not in the manner, but in the spirit,
in which it is told. May He help
His old servant to tell it with His
power!”
He leaned upon his staff as in
prayer. And all waited to hear the
gracious words which they believed
would proceed from his mouth.
In time he continued, “My father
and I were two of a co y of
shepherds who had t our
sheep from the more distant pas-
tures to feed near at home. We had
changed our feeding grounds to
these hills that year for one reason.
The Emperor had issued a decree
that we were all to be taxed; and
we were to be enrolled at our ances-
tral lots. But for that we ‘would
have been farther afield, just as the
shepherds of the village are now.
We were pasturing our flocks just a
short distance out of the town, The
event I am telling you about took
place at night. Our sheep were all
sleeping. The dogs were on the
watch; and all of us but father—it
was his turn to watch at that hour
— were getting what rest we could.
Simeon and I were sleeping in the
shade of a great stone. TIremember
that rock well. I have gone to it
many times since. As I said, we
were all asleep but father. All at
once we seemed to start out of our
sleep. You know sometimes sleep-
ing shepherds seem to be told of
danger to their flocks. But there
was no danger, The sheep were all
resting quietly on the hillside, and
the dogs were going their rounds.
But father—I shall never forget
father. A person stood by him.”
“I thought at first that it was the
master of the sheep. But I couldn’t
make out how he would be there at
that time. The last we had heard of
him he was in the city. But we
weren't’ left long in doubt.
“The glory of the Lord shone
round about us, Father seemed en-
veloped in it.”
‘A hush of awe had fallen upon the
group. Only. Judah dared
break the silence. :
“Grandfather,” the boy said, “how
you feel? How did it seem. to. .be
with God?”
“My boy,” replied the old man,
“we were all very much afraid. Not
that any of us had done anything to
be sorry for; but, O, my dear chil-
dren, who can stand before the
brightness of God's glory?
“I didn’t tell you that before we
went to sleep we had been talking
about the ‘expectations of Israel’
You know that the devout people of
our nation were looking for the ful-
fillment of prophecy. And every shep-
herd who watched that night shar-
ed that expectation. We had gone to
sleep with our heads pillowed upon
the sure promises of God. But for all
that we were sore afraid.”
: And even as he said it there came
| over the old man’s face a soft, sweet
| expression. His eyes turned again
| to the spot where the neighbors said
, the baby fingers had touched his shep-
{herd crook. When he continued he
| said, “But we ought not to have
| feared. We ought to have known
{that no evil could befall those who
| trust in the God of Jacob. And to
‘quiet our fears by showing how
| foolish they were the angel said to
jus: ‘Fear not; for behold I bring you
| good tidings of great joy which
shall be to all the people!
! “None of us interrupted him; but
{ we all pressed a little closer to hear
{ what he might say. Such a voice as
{was his. Oh, my children, I wish
i I could deliver his words in the tones
rand accents he used. But I can’t.
i This poor old stammering tongue of
mine can’t speak as the tongue of
| an angel.
; “As we pressed closer he said,
There Is om to you this day in the
city of David a Saviour
{Ons the Lord. b pWiorhs
| “Boys and girls, tell me where i
| ‘the city of Davia?’ ” But the feel.
ing under which they labored was
too great for any to answer. It was
Esther's mother who replied, ‘“Beth-
lehem.” ?
“Yes, Bethlehem,” continued the
old man, “our own dear little town
‘which had been mentioned by the
blessed prophets, was the place he
meant, And he said, ‘There is born
to you, this day, a Saviour, who is
Christ the Lord.’ ?
“And he went on, I think without
any of us asking him any question,
to tell us how we would find the
Saviour King. For you know there
were 4 great many strangers in the
town at that time. He said, “This
is the sign to you: Ye shall find a
new born babe wrapped in swaddling
clothes and lying in a manger.’
‘We hadn’t time to wonder at the
strange story, or the unusual sign,
before that mesenger of God was
surrounded by a multitude of heav-
enly hosts. They seemed to come
from everywhere. Simeon and I
used often to ask ourselves how
many there might have been; but
' could never satisfy our minds. They
i were a multitude, and they were
singing‘ the angels’ song,’ ”
“Singing the angels’
ers said, with a z |
“Yes, singing’
that dear swe
awhile ago. Yot
oh little ones,
hear such singimgs J rT
praising God before the throne. And
that may be soon.”
“Grandfather, did you go to find
the baby?” asked Judah,
Bless that dear lad. I nearly for-
got. Yes, we went and found Him
just asthe angel said. There was
no room in the inn, and strangers
arriving late had to find such shel-
ter as they could.”
“But for that’ said a boy, “the
room where I sleep might have
been the place where the Babe was
born.”
“But for that,” said anothr lad
our stable would not have furnished
the cradle for the King.”
The old man laid a hand on either
head and said, “My boys, it really
doesn’t make much difference
whether it was in your inn,” and
he pressed the lad who had spoken
first, “or in your manager,” and he
brushed the curl of the second little.
fellow, “Is He born here?” and he
touched each little breast,
“But to my story, forTam grow-
ing tired. We went with haste and
found Mary and Joseph, the two
strangers who had come to be tax-
ed, We found more. And it was
this which compelled our adoration.
For, we found the Babe lying in the
manager.” :
“Was that all, grandfather?” ask-
ed Esther,
“That was all, dear child. We
found Him; wasn’t that enough?
Heaven had given to man a Savior.
And we shepherds were the first to
be told of Him, and were the first
to seek Him out.”
“Did you put your shepherd's
crook in his hand? That story is
told of you,” said Esther's mother.
“His hand held the scepter of the
universe, my dear,” was his evasive
reply.
The children knew that the story
was ended, for the shepherd had
never told it in any other way.
They were turning to go out when
he called them back.
“Children, I feel so tired. I don't
think I shall ever tell the story
again, I want you to remember
it, and when you tell it to tell it
just as I have told it to you.”
Esther went up to him and said,
“Grandfather, let me lead you to
your bed.”
He tried to rise, but sank.
“I am too tired now, dear child.
I will rest here a little while.”
He put his hands upon his staff,
and laid his head upon his arms in
his favorite attitude.
Then the children heard him say-
ing, “Oh, such music; such singing.
“Glory to God in the highest and
on earth peace.”
They thought he was referring to
the song of the night of long ago.
But Esther's mother saw his hands
tremble.
Then he lifted his head and sank
back. On his face was a look of
indescribable joy. His old thin
arms were outstretched. ~ His shep-
herd’s staff slipped down along his
left arm until it rested against his
face. The woman said afterwards,
(Continued on page 8, Col. 8.)