V

In an hour Or maybe two an order came From out Jerusalem from Herod. A legion came and brought an order Which men had never heard before. The swaddling children slept in peace, The mothers warmed their food--’twas needless. They needed not to bathe their children And to prepare them for the night. The soldiers bared and dipped their knives In the just blood of little children,-- Such was the order Herod gave! Look on in horror now, O mother! And see what tsars like him can do!

But Mary did not need to hide Herself and child. Praise to your names, The poor, untutored shepherds there Who greeted him, had hidden safely Our Savior and they saved him thus From Herod! So they fed him kindly And gave him drink, a little shirt And jacket for the toilsome journey, And poor as they were, yet they gave An ass’s foal and set the mother Upon it with her child and led it By secret paths amid the darkness Unto the road to Memphis. Then The comet, that great ball of fire, More brilliant than the sun, shone on That ass which carried into Egypt Sweet Mary and the young Messiah.

Had ever queen sat so upon An ass, the fame of it would quickly Be spread abroad and all would talk Of her and of that ass forever Throughout the world. But Thee it bore. The true and living God upon it! A wretched Copt in after days Had tried to buy the ass of Joseph But it had died. Perhaps the road With its great load had worn it out.

The child, bathed in the Nile, doth sleep In swaddling clothes beneath a willow More safely, and among the willows The righteous mother weaves a cradle And weeps the while she spends her time In weaving of the little cradle, While Joseph sets himself to build A little hut out of the reeds, That he may have a humble shelter. Across the Nile just like an owl The Sphinx with dread and fearsome eyes Looks on the scene; and there behind it The pyramids on the bare sands Stand like a chain in order due, Just as the guards set out by Pharaoh, As grim as if they had reported Of what they know, that God’s own truth Has risen and is come to earth, A menace to the Pharaoh’s power.

Then Mary found a job to weave Soft garments for a Copt, while he, Saint Joseph, went to feed a flock That he might keep that single goat To furnish milk for his dear child. A year doth pass. Around the hut Within his own obscure domain The righteous holy carpenter Left no time to be spent in thinking. He fashions barrels and small kegs And murmurs oft. But why is this? Thou dost not weep and dost not sing; Thou thinkest ever without pause How best to teach him and to place Thy holy son on righteous paths And how to save him from all ills And shield him from the storms of life.

Another year. Around the hut The goat still feeds, but the young child And the small kid together play Within the courtyard, while the mother Sits at the threshold of the hut And spins the wool of fibres soft. Meanwhile the old man walks on tiptoe And carries to the city barrels To sell. He buys the child a cookie, A kerchief for his darling wife, And for himself a good stout thong To make some sandals. There he sat. And then he said: “Don’t grieve, my daughter! For Herod, the cruel tsar, is dead! One evening he enjoyed a feast And ate so much it caused his death. Those are the tidings that I heard. Let us go now unto our grove, Unto our quiet, little heaven. Let us go homeward, daughter mine!” “Let’s go!”, she said and quickly went Unto the Nile to wash the shirts For her son’s journey. While the goat Played with the kid around the house, Saint Joseph played with his dear son Upon the threshold and the mother Washed in the river the small shirts. And after that within the house, He packed and tried out his new sandals For the long journey. All was ready Before the sunrise; then he took The basket on his shoulders and they Within the cradle bore the child.