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The First Christmas Tree by Eugene Field. Once upon a time the forest was

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in a great commotion. Early in
the evening. The wise old cedars had

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shaken their heads ominously in predicted strange
things. They had lived in the forest

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many many years, but never had
they seen such marvelous sights as were to

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be seen now in the sky and
upon the hills and in the distant village.

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Pray, tell us what you see, pleaded a little mine, We

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who are not as tall as you, can behold. None of these wonderful

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things, describe them to us,
that we may enjoy them with you.

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I am filled with such amazement,
said one of the cedars, that I

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can hardly speak. The whole sky
seems to be aflame, and the stars

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appear to be dancing among the clouds. Angels walk down from heaven to the

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earth and enter the village, or
talk with the shepherds upon the hills.

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The vine listened in mute astonishment.
Such things never before had happened. The

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vine trembled with excitement. Its nearest
neighbor was a tiny tree, so small

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it scarcely ever was noticed. Yet
it was a very beautiful little tree,

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and the vines and ferns and mosses, and other humble residents of the forest

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loved it dearly. How I should
like to see the angels, sighed the

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little tree, And how I should
like to see the stars dancing among the

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clouds. It must be very beautiful. As the vine and the little tree

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talked of these things, the cedars
watched with increasing interest the wonderful scenes over

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and beyond the confines of the forest. Presently they thought they heard music,

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and they were not mistaken, for
soon the whole air was full of the

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sweet harmonies ever heard upon earth.
What beautiful music, cried the little tree.

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I wonder whence it comes. The
angels are singing, said a cedar,

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For none but angels could make such
sweet music. But the stars are

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singing, too, said another cedar. Yes, and the shepherds on the

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hills join in the song. And
what a strangely glorious song it is.

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The trees listened to the singing,
but they did not understand its meaning.

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It seemed to be an anthem,
and it was of a child that had

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been born. But further than this
they did not understand. The strange and

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glorious song continued all the night,
and all that night the angels walked to

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and fro, and the shepherd folk
talked with the angels, and the stars

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danced and caroled in high heaven.
And it was nearly morning when the cedars

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cried out, they are coming to
the forest. The angels are coming to

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the forest. And surely enough this
was true. The vine and the little

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tree were very terrified, and they
begged their older and stronger neighbors to protect

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them from harm. But the cedars
were too busy with their own fears to

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pay any heed to the faint pleadings
of the humble vine and the little tree.

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The angels came into the forest,
singing the same glorious anthem about the

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child, and the stars sang in
chorus with them, until every part of

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the woods rang with echoes of that
wondrous song. There was nothing in the

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appearance of this angel host to inspire
fear. They were clad all in white,

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and there were crowns upon their fair
heads, and golden harps in their

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hands. Love, hope, charity, compassion, and joy beamed from their

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beautiful faces, and their presence seemed
to fill the forest with a divine peace.

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The angels came through the forest to
where the little tree stood, and

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gathering round it, they touched it
with their hands and kissed its little branches,

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and sang even more sweetly than before. And their song was about the

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child, the child, the child
that had been born. Then the stars

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came down from the skies and danced
and hung upon the branches of the tree,

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and they too sang that song,
the song of the Child. And

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all the other trees, and the
vines, and the ferns and the mosses

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beheld in wonder. Nor could they
understand why all these things were being done,

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and why this exceeding honor should be
shown the little tree. When the

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morning came, the angels left the
forest, all but one angel, who

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remained behind and lingered near the little
tree. Then a cedar asked, why

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do you tarry with us, holy
Angel? And the angel answered, I

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stay to guard this little tree,
for it is sacred and no harm shall

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come to it. The little tree
felt quite relieved by this assurance, and

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it held up its head more confidently
than ever before. And how it thrived

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and grew and waxed in strength and
beauty. The theedars said they never had

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seen the like the sun seemed to
lavish its choicest rays upon the little tree.

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Heaven dropped its sweetest dew upon it, And the winds never came to

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the forest that they did not forget
their rude manners and linger to kiss the

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little tree and sing it their prettiest
songs. No danger ever menaced it,

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no harm threatened, for the angel
never slept. Through the day and through

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the night. The Angel watched the
little tree and protected it from all evil.

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Oftentimes the trees talked with the angel, but of course he understood little

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of what he said, for he
spoke always of the child who was to

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become the master. And always,
when thus he talked, he caressed the

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little tree, and stroked its branches
and leaves, and moistened them with his

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tears. It all was so very
strange that none in the forest could understand.

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So the years passed the angel watching
his blooming charge. Sometimes the beast

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strayed toward the little tree and threatened
to devour its tender foliage. Sometimes the

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woodman came with his axe, intent
upon hewing down the straight and comely thing.

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Sometimes the hot, consuming breath of
drought swept from the south and sought

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to blight the forest and all its
verdure. The angel kept them from the

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little tree. Serene and beautiful,
it grew, until now it was no

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longer a little tree, but the
pride and glory of the forest. One

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day the tree heard someone coming through
the forest. Hitherto the angel had hastened

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to its side when men approached.
But now the angel strode away and stood

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under the cedars yonder. Dear angel, cried the tree. Can you not

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hear the footsteps of someone approaching?
Why do you leave me? Have no

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fear, said the angel, for
he who comes is the Master. The

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Master came to the tree and beheld
it. He placed his hands upon its

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smooth trunk and branches, and the
tree was thrilled with a strange and glorious

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delight. Then he stooped and kissed
the tree, and then he turned and

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went away. Many times after that
the Master came to the forest, and

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when he came, it always was
to where the tree stood. Many times

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he rested beneath the tree and enjoyed
the shade of its foliage, and listened

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to the music of the wind as
it swept through the rustling leaves. Many

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times he slept there and the tree
watched over him, and the forest was

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still, and all its voices were
hushed, and the angel hovered near,

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like a faithful sentinel. Ever and
anon men came with the Master to the

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forest and sat with him in the
shade of the tree, and talked with

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him of matters which the tree never
could understand. Only it heard that the

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talk was of love and charity and
gentleness. And it saw that the Master

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was beloved and venerated by the others. It heard them tell of the Master's

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goodness and humility, how he had
healed the sick and raised the dead,

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and bestowed inestimable blessings wherever he walked. And the tree loved the Master for

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his beauty and his goodness, And
when he came to the forest it was

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full of joy. But when he
came not, it was sad. And

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the other trees of the forest joined
in its happiness and its sorrow, for

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they too loved the Master, and
the angel always hovered near. The Master

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came one night alone into the forest, and his face was pale with anguish

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and wet with tears, and he
fell upon his knees and prayed. The

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tree heard him, and all the
forest was still, as if it were

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standing in the presence of death.
And when the morning came low, the

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angel had gone. Then there was
a great confusion in the forest. There

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was a sound of rude voices and
a clashing of swords and staves. Strange

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men appeared, uttering loud oaths and
cruel threats, and the tree was filled

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with terror. It called aloud for
the angel, But the angel came,

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not, cried the vine. They
have come to destroy the tree, the

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pride and glory of the forest.
The forest was sorely agitated, but it

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was in vain. The strange men
plied their axes with cruel vigor, and

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the tree was hewn to the ground. Its beautiful branches were cut away and

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cast aside, and its soft,
thick foliage was strewn to the tenderer mercies

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of the winds. They are killing
me, cried the tree. Why is

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not the angel here to protect me? But no one heard the piteous cry,

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none but the other trees of the
forest, and they wept, and

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the little vine wept too. Then
the cruel men dragged the despoiled and hewn

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tree from the forest, and the
forest saw that beauteous thing. No more,

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but the night wind that swept down
from the city of the Great King

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that night to ruffle the bosom of
distant Galilee, tarried in the forest a

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while to say that it had seen
that day across upraised on Calvary the tree

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on which was stretched the body of
the Dying Master, and of the first

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Christmas Tree. By Eugene Field.