Poem December 25, 1948 Issue

WATCHER AT BETHLEHEM

Hester Champney

First my ear caught the silver sound of a bell.
The night was quiet around the inn;
From the stable the soft shuffling of the beasts
And a small, steady light. I could not tell
Who they were—the three mysterious strangers
Now alighting from their camels,
The bright star standing overhead.

Suddenly the light grew great in there.
I thought of jewels and of the morning star,
And of the look I once had caught on one at prayer.
But this radiance was brighter, far.

Morning is coming; I must go home.
Yet I think this light is not the dawn,
But some new thing in me, a well of light
Ever expanding, encompassing me, until I long
To pour out my whole heart in song.

Strange, indeed, what I have seen this night.
But now I know the gift that I can give.
This new light is love—God's love it must be,
It is so ready and so natural.

Hester Champney

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