As the vast modern cathedral organ can be traced back through centuries to the throat of a dry reed shaken with its fellows by the wind on the banks of some ancient river, so out of the throats of these children began once more the chant of ages-that deep majestical organ-roll of humanity.
The darkened parlor of the Kentucky farmhouse became the plain where shepherds watched their flocks—it became the Mount of Transfiguration—it became Calvary—it became the Apocalypse. It became the chorus out of all lands, out of all ages:—
"And there were shepherds—The Lord is my shepherd—Unto us a child is born—I know that my Redeemer liveth—I know in whom I have believed—In my Father's house are many mansions—I go to prepare a place for you—Where I am you may be also—The earth shall pass away, but my word will not pass away—Now is Christ risen from the dead—Trailing clouds of glory do we come from God Who is our home—Thou wilt not leave us in the dust—Sunset and evening star, and one clear call for me—My Pilot face to face when I have crost the bar—"
In the room was the spiritual hymn of the whole earth from the beginning until now: that somewhere in the universe there is a Father and a Fatherland; that on a dying planet under a dying sun amid myriads of dying stars there is something that does not die—the Youth of Man. In that youth all that had been best in him will come to fullest life; all that was worst will have dropped away.
The room was very still awhile.
Then upon its intense stillness there broke a sound—faint, far away through the snow-thickened air—a melody of coming sleigh-bells. All heard, all listened.
"Hark, hark! Do you hear! Listen! They are coming for me! They're coming!"
The Tree shook as he who was sitting under its branches rose to his feet with these words.
"That is father's sleigh: I know those bells: those are our sleigh-bells. That is father!" said a grave boy excitedly.
"Ah! Is that what you think I hear! Then indeed it is time for me to be going!"