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Title: The First Christmas Tree
   [the first story in "A Little Book of Profitable Tales"]
Author: Field, Eugene (1850-1895)
Date of first publication: 1889
Edition used as base for this ebook:
   New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1894
Date first posted: 30 June 2010
Date last updated: 30 June 2010
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #562

This ebook was produced by:
David Edwards, woodie4
& the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdpcanada.net

This file was produced from images generously made available
by the Internet Archive/American Libraries




THE FIRST CHRISTMAS TREE.


Once upon a time the forest was in a great commotion. Early in the
evening the wise old cedars had shaken their heads ominously and
predicted strange things. They had lived in the forest many, many
years; but never had they seen such marvellous sights as were to be
seen now in the sky, and upon the hills, and in the distant village.

"Pray tell us what you see," pleaded a little vine; "we who are not
as tall as you can behold none of these wonderful things. Describe
them to us, that we may enjoy them with you."

"I am filled with such amazement," said one of the cedars, "that I
can hardly speak. The whole sky seems to be aflame, and the stars
appear to be dancing among the clouds; angels walk down from heaven
to the earth, and enter the village or talk with the shepherds upon
the hills."

The vine listened in mute astonishment. Such things never before had
happened. The vine trembled with excitement. Its nearest neighbor
was a tiny tree, so small it scarcely ever was noticed; yet it was a
very beautiful little tree, and the vines and ferns and mosses and
other humble residents of the forest loved it dearly.

"How I should like to see the angels!" sighed the little tree, "and
how I should like to see the stars dancing among the clouds! It must
be very beautiful."

As the vine and the little tree talked of these things, the cedars
watched with increasing interest the wonderful scenes over and
beyond the confines of the forest. Presently they thought they heard
music, and they were not mistaken, for soon the whole air was full
of the sweetest harmonies ever heard upon earth.

"What beautiful music!" cried the little tree. "I wonder whence it
comes."

"The angels are singing," said a cedar; "for none but angels could
make such sweet music."

"But the stars are singing, too," said another cedar; "yes, and the
shepherds on the hills join in the song, and what a strangely
glorious song it is!"

The trees listened to the singing, but they did not understand its
meaning: it seemed to be an anthem, and it was of a Child that had
been born; but further than this they did not understand. The
strange and glorious song continued all the night; and all that
night the angels walked to and fro, and the shepherd-folk talked
with the angels, and the stars danced and carolled in high heaven.
And it was nearly morning when the cedars cried out, "They are
coming to the forest! the angels are coming to the forest!" And,
surely enough, this was true. The vine and the little tree were very
terrified, and they begged their older and stronger neighbors to
protect them from harm. But the cedars were too busy with their own
fears to pay any heed to the faint pleadings of the humble vine and
the little tree. The angels came into the forest, singing the same
glorious anthem about the Child, and the stars sang in chorus with
them, until every part of the woods rang with echoes of that
wondrous song. There was nothing in the appearance of this angel
host to inspire fear; they were clad all in white, and there were
crowns upon their fair heads, and golden harps in their hands; love,
hope, charity, compassion, and joy beamed from their beautiful
faces, and their presence seemed to fill the forest with a divine
peace. The angels came through the forest to where the little tree
stood, and gathering around it, they touched it with their hands,
and kissed its little branches, and sang even more sweetly than
before. And their song was about the Child, the Child, the Child
that had been born. Then the stars came down from the skies and
danced and hung upon the branches of the tree, and they, too, sang
that song,--the song of the Child. And all the other trees and the
vines and the ferns and the mosses beheld in wonder; nor could they
understand why all these things were being done, and why this
exceeding honor should be shown the little tree.

When the morning came the angels left the forest,--all but one
angel, who remained behind and lingered near the little tree. Then
a cedar asked: "Why do you tarry with us, holy angel?" And the angel
answered: "I stay to guard this little tree, for it is sacred, and
no harm shall come to it."

The little tree felt quite relieved by this assurance, and it held
up its head more confidently than ever before. And how it thrived
and grew, and waxed in strength and beauty! The cedars said they
never had seen the like. The sun seemed to lavish its choicest rays
upon the little tree, heaven dropped its sweetest dew upon it, and
the winds never came to the forest that they did not forget their
rude manners and linger to kiss the little tree and sing it their
prettiest songs. No danger ever menaced it, no harm threatened; for
the angel never slept,--through the day and through the night the
angel watched the little tree and protected it from all evil.
Oftentimes the trees talked with the angel; but of course they
understood little of what he said, for he spoke always of the Child
who was to become the Master; and always when thus he talked, he
caressed the little tree, and stroked its branches and leaves, and
moistened them with his tears. It all was so very strange that none
in the forest could understand.

So the years passed, the angel watching his blooming charge.
Sometimes the beasts strayed toward the little tree and threatened
to devour its tender foliage; sometimes the woodman came with his
axe, intent upon hewing down the straight and comely thing;
sometimes the hot, consuming breath of drought swept from the south,
and sought to blight the forest and all its verdure: the angel kept
them from the little tree. Serene and beautiful it grew, until now
it was no longer a little tree, but the pride and glory of the
forest.

One day the tree heard some one coming through the forest. Hitherto
the angel had hastened to its side when men approached; but now the
angel strode away and stood under the cedars yonder.

"Dear angel," cried the tree, "can you not hear the footsteps of
some one approaching? Why do you leave me?"

"Have no fear," said the angel; "for He who comes is the Master."

The Master came to the tree and beheld it. He placed His hands upon
its smooth trunk and branches, and the tree was thrilled with a
strange and glorious delight. Then He stooped and kissed the tree,
and then He turned and went away.

Many times after that the Master came to the forest, and when He
came it always was to where the tree stood. Many times He rested
beneath the tree and enjoyed the shade of its foliage, and listened
to the music of the wind as it swept through the rustling leaves.
Many times He slept there, and the tree watched over Him, and the
forest was still, and all its voices were hushed. And the angel
hovered near like a faithful sentinel.

Ever and anon men came with the Master to the forest, and sat with
Him in the shade of the tree, and talked with Him of matters which
the tree never could understand; only it heard that the talk was of
love and charity and gentleness, and it saw that the Master was
beloved and venerated by the others. It heard them tell of the
Master's goodness and humility,--how He had healed the sick and
raised the dead and bestowed inestimable blessings wherever He
walked. And the tree loved the Master for His beauty and His
goodness; and when He came to the forest it was full of joy, but
when He came not it was sad. And the other trees of the forest
joined in its happiness and its sorrow, for they, too, loved the
Master. And the angel always hovered near.

The Master came one night alone into the forest, and His face was
pale with anguish and wet with tears, and He fell upon His knees and
prayed. The tree heard Him, and all the forest was still, as if it
were standing in the presence of death. And when the morning came,
lo! the angel had gone.

Then there was a great confusion in the forest. There was a sound of
rude voices, and a clashing of swords and staves. Strange men
appeared, uttering loud oaths and cruel threats, and the tree was
filled with terror. It called aloud for the angel, but the angel
came not.

"Alas," cried the vine, "they have come to destroy the tree, the
pride and glory of the forest!"

The forest was sorely agitated, but it was in vain. The strange men
plied their axes with cruel vigor, and the tree was hewn to the
ground. Its beautiful branches were cut away and cast aside, and its
soft, thick foliage was strewn to the tenderer mercies of the winds.

"They are killing me!" cried the tree; "why is not the angel here to
protect me?"

But no one heard the piteous cry,--none but the other trees of the
forest; and they wept, and the little vine wept too.

Then the cruel men dragged the despoiled and hewn tree from the
forest, and the forest saw that beauteous thing no more.

But the night wind that swept down from the City of the Great King
that night to ruffle the bosom of distant Galilee, tarried in the
forest awhile to say that it had seen that day a cross upraised on
Calvary,--the tree on which was stretched the body of the dying
Master.

1884.




[End of _The First Christmas Tree_ by Eugene Field]
