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Speaker 1: The First Christmas Tree by Eugene Field. Once upon a

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time the forest was in a great commotion. Early in

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the evening. The wise old cedars had shaken their heads

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ominously in predicted strange things. They had lived in the

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forest many many years, but never had they seen such

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marvelous sights as were to be seen now in the

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sky and upon the hills and in the distant village. Pray,

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

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who are not as tall as you, can behold. None

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of these wonderful things, describe them to us, that we

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may enjoy them with you. I am filled with such amazement,

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said one of the cedars, that I can hardly speak.

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The whole sky seems to be aflame, and the stars

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appear to be dancing among the clouds. Angels walk down

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from heaven to the earth and enter the village, or

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talk with the shepherds upon the hills. The vine listened

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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,

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so small it scarcely ever was noticed. Yet it was

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a very beautiful little tree, and the vines and ferns

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and mosses, and other humble residents of the forest loved

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

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sighed the little tree, And how I should like to

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see the stars dancing among the clouds. It must be

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very beautiful. As the vine and the little tree talked

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of these things, the cedars watched with increasing interest the

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wonderful scenes over and beyond the confines of the forest.

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Presently they thought they heard music, and they were not mistaken,

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for soon the whole air was full of the sweet

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

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little tree. I wonder whence it comes. The angels are singing,

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said a cedar, For none but angels could make such

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sweet music. But the stars are singing, too, said another cedar. Yes,

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and the shepherds on the hills join in the song.

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And what a strangely glorious song it is. The trees

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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

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a child that had been born. But further than this

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they did not understand. The strange and glorious song continued

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all the night, and all that night the angels walked

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

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and the stars danced and caroled in high heaven. And

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it was nearly morning when the cedars cried out, they

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are coming to the forest. The angels are coming to

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

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and the little tree were very terrified, and they begged

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their older and stronger neighbors to protect them from harm.

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But the cedars were too busy with their own fears

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to pay any heed to the faint pleadings of the

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humble vine and the little tree. The angels came into

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the forest, singing the same glorious anthem about the child,

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and the stars sang in chorus with them, until every

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part of the woods rang with echoes of that wondrous song.

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There was nothing in the appearance of this angel host

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to inspire fear. They were clad all in white, and

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there were crowns upon their fair heads, and golden harps

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

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from their beautiful faces, and their presence seemed to fill

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the forest with a divine peace. The angels came through

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the forest to where the little tree stood, and gathering

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round it, they touched it with their hands and kissed

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its little branches, and sang even more sweetly than before.

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And their song was about the child, the child, the

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child that had been born. Then the stars came down

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from the skies and danced and hung upon the branches

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of the tree, and they too sang that song, the

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song of the Child. And all the other trees, and

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the vines, and the ferns and the mosses beheld in wonder.

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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.

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When the morning came, the angels left the forest, all

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but one angel, who remained behind and lingered near the

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little tree. Then a cedar asked, why do you tarry

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with us, holy Angel? And the angel answered, I stay

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to guard this little tree, for it is sacred and

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no harm shall come to it. The little tree felt

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quite relieved by this assurance, and it held up its

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head more confidently than ever before. And how it thrived

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and grew and waxed in strength and beauty. The theedars

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said they never had seen the like the sun seemed

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to lavish its choicest rays upon the little tree. Heaven

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dropped its sweetest dew upon it, And the winds never

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came to the forest that they did not forget their

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rude manners and linger to kiss the little tree and

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sing it their prettiest songs. No danger ever menaced it,

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no harm threatened, for the angel never slept. Through the

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day and through the night. The Angel watched the little

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tree and protected it from all evil. Oftentimes the trees

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talked with the angel, but of course he understood little

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of what he said, for he spoke always of the

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child who was to become the master. And always, when

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thus he talked, he caressed the little tree, and stroked

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its branches and leaves, and moistened them with his tears.

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It all was so very strange that none in the

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forest could understand. So the years passed the angel watching

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his blooming charge. Sometimes the beast strayed toward the little

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tree and threatened to devour its tender foliage. Sometimes the

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woodman came with his axe, intent upon hewing down the

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straight and comely thing. Sometimes the hot, consuming breath of

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drought swept from the south and sought to blight the

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forest and all its verdure. The angel kept them from

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the little tree. Serene and beautiful, it grew, until now

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it was no longer a little tree, but the pride

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and glory of the forest. One day the tree heard

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someone coming through the forest. Hitherto the angel had hastened

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to its side when men approached. But now the angel

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strode away and stood under the cedars yonder. Dear angel,

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cried the tree. Can you not hear the footsteps of

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someone approaching? Why do you leave me? Have no fear,

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

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The Master came to the tree and beheld it. He

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placed his hands upon its smooth trunk and branches, and

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the tree was thrilled with a strange and glorious delight.

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Then he stooped and kissed the tree, and then he

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turned and went away. Many times after that the Master

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came to the forest, and when he came, it always

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was to where the tree stood. Many times he rested

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beneath the tree and enjoyed the shade of its foliage,

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and listened to the music of the wind as it

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swept through the rustling leaves. Many times he slept there

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and the tree watched over him, and the forest was still,

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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

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the Master to the forest and sat with him in

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the shade of the tree, and talked with him of

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matters which the tree never could understand. Only it heard

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that the talk was of love and charity and gentleness.

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And it saw that the Master was beloved and venerated

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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

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raised the dead, and bestowed inestimable blessings wherever he walked.

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And the tree loved the Master for his beauty and

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his goodness, And when he came to the forest it

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

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was sad. And the other trees of the forest joined

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in its happiness and its sorrow, for they too loved

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the Master, and the angel always hovered near. The Master

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came one night alone into the forest, and his face

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was pale with anguish and wet with tears, and he

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fell upon his knees and prayed. The tree heard him,

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and all the forest was still, as if it were

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standing in the presence of death. And when the morning

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came low, the angel had gone. Then there was a

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great confusion in the forest. There was a sound of

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rude voices and a clashing of swords and staves. Strange

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men appeared, uttering loud oaths and cruel threats, and the

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tree was filled with terror. It called aloud for the angel,

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But the angel came, not, cried the vine. They have

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come to destroy the tree, the pride and glory of

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the forest. The forest was sorely agitated, but it was

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

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and the tree was hewn to the ground. Its beautiful

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branches were cut away and cast aside, and its soft,

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thick foliage was strewn to the tenderer mercies of the winds.

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They are killing me, cried the tree. Why is not

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the angel here to protect me? But no one heard

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the piteous cry, none but the other trees of the forest,

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and they wept, and the little vine wept too. Then

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the cruel men dragged the despoiled and hewn tree from

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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

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of the Great King that night to ruffle the bosom

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of distant Galilee, tarried in the forest a while to

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say that it had seen that day across upraised on

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Calvary the tree on which was stretched the body of

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the Dying Master, and of the first Christmas Tree. By

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Eugene Field.