That kinges three
Shall come on the twelfth day;
For this behest
Give me thy breast,
And sing, by-by, lullay!”
“See here,” quoth Miles Standish, “when my Rose singeth, the children gather round her like bees round a flower. Come, let us all strike up a goodly carol together. Sing one, sing all, girls and boys, and get a bit of Old England’s Christmas before to-morrow, when we must to our work on shore.”
Thereat Rose struck up a familiar ballad-meter of a catching rhythm, and every voice of young and old was soon joining in it:
“Behold a silly, tender Babe,
In freezing winter night,
In homely manger trembling lies;
Alas! a piteous sight,
The inns are full, no man will yield
This little Pilgrim bed;
But forced He is, with silly beasts
In crib to shroud His head.
Despise Him not for lying there,
First what He is inquire:
An orient pearl is often found
In depth of dirty mire.
“Weigh not His crib, His wooden dish,
Nor beasts that by Him feed;
Weigh not His mother’s poor attire,
Nor Joseph’s simple weed.
This stable is a Prince’s court,
The crib His chair of state,
The beasts are parcel of His pomp,
The wooden dish His plate.
The persons in that poor attire
His royal liveries wear;
The Prince Himself is come from Heaven,
This pomp is prized there.
With joy approach, O Christian wight,
Do homage to thy King;
And highly praise His humble pomp,
Which He from Heaven doth bring.”
Old English — simple.
The cheerful sounds spread themselves through the ship like the flavor of some rare perfume, bringing softness of heart through a thousand tender memories.
Anon, the hour of Sabbath morning worship drew on, and Elder Brewster read from the New Testament the whole story of the Nativity, and then gave a sort of Christmas homily from the words of St. Paul, in the eighth chapter of Romans, the sixth and seventh verses, which the Geneva version thus renders:
“For the wisdom of the flesh is death, but the wisdom of the spirit is life and peace.
“For the wisdom of the flesh is enmity against God, for it is not subject to the law of God, neither indeed can be.”
“Ye know full well, dear brethren, what the wisdom of the flesh sayeth. The wisdom of the flesh sayeth to each one, ‘Take care of thyself; look after thyself, to get and to have and to hold and to enjoy.’ The wisdom of the flesh sayeth, ‘So thou art warm, full, and in good liking, take thine ease, eat, drink, and be merry, and care not how many go empty and be lacking.’ But ye have seen in the Gospel this morning that this was not the wisdom of our Lord Jesus Christ, who, though he was Lord of all, became poorer than any, that we, through His poverty, might become rich. When our Lord Jesus Christ came, the wisdom of the flesh despised Him; the wisdom of the flesh had no room for Him at the inn.
“There was room enough always for Herod and his concubines, for the wisdom of the flesh set great store by them; but a poor man and woman were thrust out to a stable; and there was a poor baby born whom the wisdom of the flesh knew not, because the wisdom of the flesh is enmity against God.
“The wisdom of the flesh, brethren, ever despiseth the wisdom of God, because it knoweth it not. The wisdom of the flesh looketh at the thing that is great and strong and high; it looketh at riches, at kings’ courts, at fine clothes and fine jewels and fine feastings, and it despiseth the little and the poor and the weak.
“But the wisdom of the Spirit goeth to worship the poor babe in the manger, and layeth gold and myrrh and frankincense at his feet while he lieth in weakness and poverty, as did the wise men who were taught of God.
“Now, forasmuch as our Saviour Christ left His riches and throne in glory and came in weakness and poverty to this world, that he might work out a mighty salvation that shall be to all people, how can we better keep Christmas than to follow in his steps? We be a little company who have forsaken houses and lands and possessions, and come here unto the wilderness that we may prepare a resting-place whereto others shall come to reap what we shall sow. And to-morrow we shall keep our first Christmas, not in flesh-pleasing, and in reveling and in fullness of bread, but in small beginning and great weakness, as our Lord Christ kept it when He was born in a stable and lay in a manger.
“To-morrow, God willing, we will all go forth to do good, honest Christian work, and begin the first house-building in this our New England — it may be roughly fashioned, but as good a house, I’ll warrant me, as our Lord Christ had on the Christmas Day we wot of. And let us not faint in heart because the wisdom of the world despiseth what we do. Though Sanballat the Horonite, and Tobias the Ammonite, and Geshem the Arabian make scorn of us, and say, ‘What do these weak Jews? If a fox go up, he shall break down their stone wall;’ yet the Lord our God is with us, and He can cause our work to prosper.
“The wisdom of the Spirit seeth the grain of mustard-seed, that is the least of all seeds, how it shall become a great tree, and the fowls of heaven shall lodge in its branches. Let us, then, lift up the hands that hang down and the feeble knees, and let us hope that, like as great salvation to all people came out of small beginnings of Bethlehem, so the work which we shall begin to-morrow shall be for the good of many nations.
“It is a custom on this Christmas Day to give love-presents. What love-gift giveth our Lord Jesus on this day? Brethren, it is a great one and a precious; as St. Paul said to the Philippians: ‘For unto you it is given for Christ, not only that ye should believe on Him, but also that ye should suffer for His sake;’ and St. Peter also saith, ‘Behold, we count them blessed which endure.’ And the holy Apostles rejoiced that they were counted worthy to suffer rebuke for the name of Jesus.
“Our Lord Christ giveth us of His cup and His baptism; He giveth of the manger and the straw; He giveth of persecutions and afflictions; He giveth of the crown of thorns, and right dear unto us be these gifts.
“And now will I tell these children a story, which a cunning playwright, whom I once knew in our Queen’s court, hath made concerning gifts:
“A great king would marry his daughter worthily, and so he caused three caskets to be made, in one of which he hid her picture. The one casket was of gold set with diamonds, the second of silver set with pearls, and the third a poor casket of lead.
“Now it was given out that each comer should have but one choice, and if he chose the one with the picture he should have the lady to wife.
“Divers kings, knights, and gentlemen came from far, but they never won, because they always snatched at the gold and the silver caskets, with the pearls and diamonds. So, when they opened these, they found only a grinning death’s-head or a fool’s cap.
“But anon cometh a true, brave knight and gentleman, who chooseth for love alone the old leaden casket; and, behold, within is the picture of her he loveth! and they were married with great feasting and content.
“So our Lord Jesus doth not offer himself to us in silver and gold and jewels, but in poverty and hardness and want; but whoso chooseth them for His love’s sake shall find Him therein whom his soul loveth, and shall enter with joy to the marriage supper of the Lamb.
“And when the Lord shall come again in his glory, then he shall bring worthy gifts with him, for he saith: ‘Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life; to him that overcometh I will give to eat of the hidden manna, and I will give him a white stone with a new name that no man knoweth save he that receiveth it. He that overcometh and keepeth my words, I will give power over the nations and I will give him the morning star.’
“Let us then take joyfully Christ’s Christmas gifts of labors an
d adversities and crosses to-day, that when he shall appear we may have these great and wonderful gifts at his coming; for if we suffer with him we shall also reign; but if we deny him, he also will deny us.”
And so it happens that the only record of Christmas Day in the pilgrims’ journal is this:
“Monday, the 25th, being Christmas Day, we went ashore, some to fell timber, some to saw, some to rive, and some to carry; and so no man rested all that day. But towards night some, as they were at work, heard a noise of Indians, which caused us all to go to our muskets; but we heard no further, so we came aboard again, leaving some to keep guard. That night we had a sore storm of wind and rain. But at night the shipmaster caused us to have some beer aboard.”
So worthily kept they the first Christmas, from which comes all the Christmas cheer of New England
to-day. There is no record how Mary Winslow and Rose Standish and others, with women and children, came ashore and walked about encouraging the builders; and how little Love gathered stores of bright checker-berries and partridge plums, and was made merry in seeing squirrels and wild rabbits; nor how old Margery roasted certain wild geese to a turn at a woodland fire, and conserved wild cranberries with honey for sauce. In their journals the good pilgrims say they found bushels of strawberries in the meadows in December. But we, knowing the nature of things, know that these must have been cranberries, which grow still abundantly around Plymouth harbor.
And at the very time that all this was doing in the wilderness, and the men were working yeomanly to build a new nation, in King James’s court the ambassadors of the French King were being entertained with maskings and mummerings, wherein the staple subject of merriment was the Puritans!
So goes the wisdom of the world and its ways — and so goes the wisdom of God!
THE DAISY’S FIRST WINTER AND OTHER STORIES
CONTENTS
THE DAISY’S FIRST WINTER.
THE HEN THAT HATCHED DUCKS.
MOTHER MAGPIE’S MISCHIEF.
THE NUTCRACKERS OF NUTCRACKER LODGE.
THE HISTORY OF TIP-TOP.
THE SQUIRRELS THAT LIVE IN A HOUSE.
MISS KATY-DID AND MISS CRICKET.
PRINCE AND PERO.
AN EVENING IN UNCLE TOM’S CABIN.
FRANKNESS.
HUM, THE SON OF BUZ.
THE DAISY’S FIRST WINTER.
SOMEWHERE in a garden of this earth, which the dear Lord has planted with many flowers of gladness, grew a fresh, bright little daisy.
The first this little daisy knew, she found herself growing in green pastures and beside the still waters where the heavenly Shepherd was leading his sheep. And very beautiful did life look to her, as her bright little eyes, with their crimson lashes, opened and looked down into the deep crystal waters of the brook below, where the sunshine made every hour more sparkles, more rings of light, and more brilliant glances and changes of colour, than all the jewellers in the world could imitate. She knew intimately all the thrushes, and larks, and blackbirds, that sang, piped, whistled, or chattered among the bushes and trees in the pasture; and she was a favourite with them all. The fish that darted to and fro in the waters seemed like so many living gems; and their silent motions, as they glided hither and thither, were full of beauty, and told as plainly of happiness as if they could speak. Multitudes of beautiful flowers grew up in the water, or on the moist edges of the brook; and many beautiful blooming things grew and flourished in that green pasture, where dear little Daisy was so happy as first to open her bright eyes. They did not all blossom at once, but had their graceful changes; but there was always a pleasant flutter of expectation among them — either a sending forth of leaves, or a making of buds, or a bursting out into blossoms; and when the blossoms passed away there was a thoughtful, careful maturing of seeds, all packed away so snugly in their little coffers and caskets of seed-pods, which were of every quaint and dainty shape that ever could be fancied for a lady’s jewel-box. Overhead there grew a wide-spreading apple-tree, which in the month of June became a gigantic bouquet, holding up to the sun a million silvery opening flowers, and a million pink-tipped buds; and the little winds would come to play in its branches, and take the pink shells of the blossoms for their tiny air-boats, in which they would go floating round among the flowers, or sail on voyages of discovery down the stream; and when the time of its blossom was gone, the bountiful tree from year to year had matured fruits of golden ripeness which cheered the hearts of men.
Little Daisy’s life was only one varied delight from day to day. She had a hundred playmates among the light-winged winds, that came to her every hour to tell her what was going on all over the green pasture, and to bring her sweet perfumed messages from the violets and other flowers of even the more distant regions.
There was not a ring of sunlight that danced in the golden network at the bottom of the brook that did not bring a thrill of gladness to her heart; not a tiny fish glided in his crystal paths, or played and frolicked under the water-lily shadows, that was not a well-known friend of hers, and whose pleasures she did not share. At night she held conferences with the dew-drops that stepped about among the flowers in their bright pearl slippers, and washed their leaves and faces before they went to rest. Nice little nurses and dressing-maids, these dews! and they kept tender guard all night over the flowers, watching and blinking wakefully to see that all was safe; but when the sun arose, each of them spread a pair of little rainbow wings, and was gone.
To be sure, there were some reverses in her lot. Sometimes a great surly, ill-looking cloud would appear in the sky, like a cross schoolmaster, and sweep up all the sunbeams, and call in a gruff voice to the little winds, her play-fellows, to come away from their nonsense; and then he would send a great strong wind down on them, all with a frightful noise and roar, and sweep all the little flowers flat to the earth; and there would be a great rush and pattering of rain-drops, and bellowing of thunders, and sharp forked lightnings would quiver through the air, as if the green pasture certainly were to be tom to pieces. But in about half an hour it would be all over: the sunbeams would all dance out from their hiding-places, just as good as if nothing had happened; and the little winds would come laughing back, and each little flower would lift itself up, and the winds would help them to shake off the wet, and plume themselves as jauntily as if nothing had gone amiss. Daisy had the greatest pride and joy in her own pink blossoms, of which there seemed to be an inexhaustible store; for, as fast as one dropped its leaves, another was ready to open its eyes, and there were buds of every size, waiting still to come on, even down to little green cushions of buds that lay hidden away in the middle of the leaves, down close to the root.
‘How favoured I am!’ said Daisy; ‘I never stop blossoming. Other flowers have their time, but then they stop, and have only leaves, while I go on blooming perpetually; how nice it is to be made as I am!’
‘But you must remember,’ said a great rough tree to her, ‘you must remember that your winter must come at last, when all this fine blossoming will have to be done with.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Daisy, in a tone of pride, eyeing her rough neighbour with a glance of disgust.
‘You are a rough, ugly old thing, and that’s why you are cross. Pretty people like me can afford to be good-natured.’
‘Ah, well,’ said the tree, ‘you’ll see. It’s a pretty thing if a young chit just out from seed this year should be impertinent to me who have seen twenty winters, — yes, and been through them well too!’
‘Tell me, pretty linnet,’ said Daisy, ‘is there any truth in what this horrid tree has been saying? What does she mean by winter?’
‘I don’t know — not I,’ said the linnet, as he turned a dozen somersets in the air, and then perched himself airily on a thistle-head, singing —
‘I don’t know, and I don’t care;
It’s mighty pleasant to fly up there,
And it’s mighty pleasant to light down here,
And all I kno
w is chip, chip, cheer.’
‘Say, swallow, do you know anything about winter?’
‘Winter! I never saw one,’ said the swallow; ‘we have wings, and follow summer round the world, and where she is, there go we.’
‘Lark! lark! have you ever heard of winter?’ said Daisy, Lark was sure he never remembered one. ‘What is winter?’ he said, looking confused.
‘Butterfly! butterfly!’ said Daisy, ‘come, tell me, will there be winter, and what is winter?’
But the butterfly laughed, and danced up and down, and said, ‘What is Daisy talking about? I never heard of winter. Winter? ha! ha! What is it?’
‘Then it’s only one of this tree’s spiteful sayings,’ said Daisy. ‘Just because she isn’t pretty, she wants to spoil my pleasure too. Say, dear lovely tree, that shades me so sweetly, is there such a thing as winter?’
And the tree said, with a sigh through its leaves, ‘Yes, daughter, there will be winter; but fear not, for the Good Shepherd makes both summer and winter, and each is good in its time. Enjoy thy summer, and fear not.’
The months rolled by. The violets had long ago stopped blooming, their leaves were turning yellow, but they had beautiful green seed-caskets, full of rows of little pearls, which next year should come up in blue violets. The dog-toothed violet and the eye bright had gone under ground, so that no more was seen of them; and Daisy wondered whither they could be gone. But she had new acquaintances far more brilliant, and she forgot the others. And still Daisy had abundance of leaves and blossoms, and felt strong and well at the root. Then the apple-tree cast down to the ground its fragrant burden of golden apples, and men came and carried them away.
By and by there came keen, cutting winds, and driving storms of sleet and hail; and then at night it would be so cold, so very cold! and one after another the leaves and flowers fell stiff and frozen, and grew black, and turned to decay. The leaves loosened and fell from the apple-tree, and sailed away by thousands down the brook; the butterflies lay dead with the flowers; but all the birds had gone singing away to the sunny south, following the summer into other lands.
Complete Works of Harriet Beecher Stowe Page 562
