A SPRIG OF MYRRH

Hawke's Bay Tribune, Volume XVI, Issue 11, 24 December 1925, Page 11

A SPRIG OF MYRRH

(By

W. B. Calvert.)

TT WAS Christmas Eve. With dragging, aching feet the girl walked the slush-covered pave meats, her head bowed to the snow laden blast, her hands clutching at the shawl that covered her. Beyond the low parapet the river swirled, black and grim, and she turned away shuddering. On the other hand the traffic passed and repassed and from afar came the muffled roar of the great, restless efty, and again the girl shuddered. Slowly she moved beneath the glittering arc lamps. And the snow ceased, ami the wind dropped, and the clouds dispersed. Stars shone bright amidst the vast, untravelled waste of blue, and the waning moon sped in and out the silent waves of shadow. The rumble of the city’s life grew louder; the laughter of Yuletide joy resounded in I the hurrying throng; from the hilltop i came the clamor of rejoicing bells. ! A great stillness brooded within the church as the girl entered. Dini lights shimmered on the altar; a candle flicker ed and guttered by her side. And it ■ was warm. Thankfully she sank on her knees, her lips moved, her tired head bowed down on her clasped white hands j Breaking the hush there came the deep, rich tones of the priest, chanting Evensong. Yet the girl remained un moved. Silver clear aud unbelievably pure, the fresh young voices of the choir chimed in. One there was, rboy with the face of an angel, who sang alone, very soft and low. And the whisp ring echoes took the music to themselves and carried it to the dim, mysteriousshadows from which hung the cross. I A great peace fell on all who listened, for the words, for many a quiet listen or, were very comforting:

He comes the broken heart to blind, The bleeding soul to cure, And with the treasures of His grac.s To bless the humble poor. But the girl heeded not, for the weariness ol all women was upon her. I hey found her when the service was ended, Somewhat roughly—for oue should not sleep in the house of God—they woke her and led her out ere they locked the great doors. Down the steps the people passed. The cold night wind stung them, and they gathered up the lapels of their rich coats. The girl, too. shivered, and pulled her shawl about her. White was her face in the starlight; black were her eyes in the shadow. She almost fell as she went down the steps; but the people hurried past with a sidelong glance and disappeared into the night. Through silent streets and empty squares the girl moved on. Sick she yas with the anguish of her soul, and yet she feared release. The sky darkened as the clocks boomed forth the Christ Childs’ day. Silently the snow began to fall; it covered the filth and grime of the city. ' So she turned listlessly to seek her room). At the entrance to that street of shadows where she lived she paused and listened. All was still. The grim, black houses towered up on either hand, their windows leering in the moonlight like soulless eyes. Shudderingly she pressed onwards, her footsteps silenced on the yielding snow. Again she stopped. And athwart the stillness came the faint wail of a child. Trembling, the girl hurried vffS ’PUR O ou oioqj, ’SMOpuqs oqi o;ui A[UiUA porood pun poor oq| ssorau turned to go, and her foot touched something soft. Very tenderly she stooped, and lifted the babo. She cried once, and she saw the tired, fluttering lids droop over the little blue eyes. With strange eagerness she pressed it to her bosom, where il lay and smiled. And as it lay there the weariness and sorrow left her. Tears rose and welled in her heart, as in her eyes; and in that moment there came to her the sense of fair, immortal things, clothed in mortal beauty.

A great light shone in her face as sh« wrapped her shawl about the sleeping babe and pressed her lips to its cheek. And from the court-yard of the Hom* of the Motherless Ones there came U her the sound of children’s voices.

Long, long ago, in Bethlehem, Tnc Christ Child came With no one but His mother sweet To warm His little hands and iefit, Or know His name. At the sweetness thereof the Chilo stirred. The blue eyes opened, the little rosebud lips parted, and He smiled into the face of her who held Him. And she bowed her head for the glory of the beauty that was there, and sank upon her knees.

In the dawning, the glorious dawning of that Christmas morn, they found her in he snow beneath the hospice wall. Her shawl was by her side. “Been dead somo hours,” said the doctor.

“That’s strange,” said the policeman. “The shawl’s quite warm.” Anil as he picked it up a sprig of myrrh fell unpreceived at bis fet. * ♦ ♦ *