The First Christmas Tree by Eugene Field. Once upon a time the forest was
in a great commotion. Early in the evening. The wise old cedars had
shaken their heads ominously in predicted strange things. They had lived in the forest
many many years, but never had they seen such marvelous 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 mine, 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
sweet 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 caroled 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 round 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 theedars 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 he 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 beast
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 someone 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 someone 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 low, 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, 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 a
while to say that it had seen that day across upraised on Calvary the tree
on which was stretched the body of the Dying Master, and of the first
Christmas Tree. By Eugene Field.