Classic Poem

H ERMANN , the charcoal-burner, went home through the forest one night,
The snow was falling about him like a great veil soft and white:
'T was the eve of the blessed Christmas, and his heart was glad and light.

For he said, “The wife and the children are waiting me, I know,
And the lamps were lit on the fir-tree full half an hour ago,—
I can almost see them gleaming through the white mist of the snow.”

But suddenly a faint wailing fell upon Hermann's ear,—
Was it the wind in the branches? was it a causeless fear
Born of the night and the darkness? The old man paused to hear.

It was not a causeless terror, it was not the branches bare,
Tossing their arms in the windy and desolate winter air;
'T was the voice of a wailing baby, innocent, sweet and fair.

“Scantily clothed and shivering, sobbing alone in the snow,
Why have they left thee, sweet one?” the old man murmured low.
“See, I will take thee homeward! Little one, wilt thou go?”

So he pressed the weeping baby close to his own gaunt form,
And sheltered it in his bosom, away from the smiting storm,
Till he reached his home by the forest, where the Christmas lights gleamed warm.

And the good wife gave heart-welcome, while higher still she piled
The board that with Christmas gladness and Christmas plenty smiled,
And the children gathered around him to gaze at the little child,—

The little desolate wanderer brought from the forest gloom;
They showed him the pretty fir-tree blazing with light and bloom,
At the board with its smiling plenty they gave the stranger room,—

Gazing and gazing upon him, the child so wondrous fair,
With his clear blue eyes so shining, his clustering, golden hair,
Till, gazing, a sudden glory illumined all the air!

For over the curls so golden, a halo grew and grew,
The soft eyes beamed new lustre, two white wings blossomed through
The tips of the lovely shoulders,—then, gliding from their view,

Spreading white hands of blessing, the beautiful vision fled!
And Hermann knew of a surety, even as Christ has said,
“Who helpeth the poor and needy, helpeth the Lord instead.”

And he cried, “'T is the holy Christ-child!” and clasped in glad embrace
His wondering wife and children, then fell upon his face
And thanked the Lord for his goodness, his marvellous, rich grace.

And when, in the early dawning of the blessed Christmas Day,
Good Hermann went to the forest, lo, where the Christ-child lay,
'T was as if the snow had blossomed! for under the twilight gray,

A cluster of fair, white flowers, bosomed in tender green,
Lit up the place with a shimmering, dainty, delicate sheen;
And Hermann knelt and plucked them; then, with a reverent mien,

Home to his wife and children the sacred flowers he bore:
Chrysanthemums he named them, and cherished them evermore
With pious care,—and always, when Christmas comes with store

Of cheer and plenty, the children take of their fruit and bread
And give to some little outcast, because of Him who said,
“Who giveth to these little ones, giveth to me instead.”