LATER POEMS
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!