Chapter 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.