s and maids
Beneath his shining wings.

Here comes the little Christ-child,
All innocence and joy,
And bearing gifts in either hand
For every girl and boy.
He tells the tender story
About the Holy Maid,
And Jesus in the manger
Before the oxen laid.
Like any little winter bird
He sings his sweetest song,
Till all the cherubs in the sky
To hear his carol throng.
He is the children's Christmas;
They come without a call,
To gather round the gracious Child,
Who bringeth joy to all.

But who shall bring _their_ Christmas
Who wrestle still with life?
Not grandsires, youths, or little folks,
But they who wage the strife--
The fathers and the mothers
Who fight for homes and bread,
Who watch and ward the living,
And bury all the dead?
Ah! by their side at Christmas-tide
The Lord of Christmas stands:
He smooths the furrows from their brow
With strong and tender hands.
"I take my Christmas gift," He saith,
"From thee, tired soul, and he
Who giveth to My little ones
Gives also unto Me."

* * * * *

IV

STORIES

THE FIR TREE

HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

Out in the forest stood a pretty little Fir Tree. It had a good place;
it could have sunlight, air there was in plenty, and all around grew
many larger comrades--pines as well as firs. But the little Fir Tree
wished ardently to become greater. It did not care for the warm sun and
the fresh air; it took no notice of the peasant children, who went about
talking together, when they had come out to look for strawberries and
raspberries. Often they came with a whole pot-full, or had strung
berries on a straw; then they would sit down by the little Fir Tree and
say, "How pretty and small that one is!" and the Tree did not like to
hear that at all.

Next year he had grown a great joint, and the following year he was
longer still, for in fir trees one can always tell by the number of
rings they have how many years they have been growing.

"Oh, if I were only as great a tree as the others!" sighed the little
Fir, "then I would spread my branches far around, and look out from my
crown into the wide world. The birds would then build nests in my
boughs, and when the wind blew I could nod just as grandly as the others
yonder."

He took no pleasure in the sunshine, in