THE CHRISTMAS ANGEL


It was the hour of rest in the Country Beyond the Stars. All the
silver bells that swing with the turning of the great ring of light
which lies around that land were softly chiming; and the sound of
their commotion went down like dew upon the golden ways of the city,
and the long alleys of blossoming trees, and the meadows of asphodel,
and the curving shores of the River of Life.

At the hearing of that chime, all the angels who had been working
turned to play, and all who had been playing gave themselves joyfully
to work. Those who had been singing, and making melody on different
instruments, fell silent and began to listen. Those who had been
walking alone in meditation met together in companies to talk. And
those who had been far away on errands to the Earth and other planets
came homeward like a flight of swallows to the high cliff when the day
is over.

It was not that they needed to be restored from weariness, for the
inhabitants of that country never say, "I am tired." But there, as
here, the law of change is the secret of happiness, and the joy that
never ends is woven of mingled strands of labour and repose, society
and solitude, music and silence. Sleep comes to them not as it does to
us, with a darkening of the vision and a folding of the wings of the
spirit, but with an opening of the eyes to deeper and fuller light,
and with an effortless outgoing of the soul upon broader currents
of life, as the sun-loving bird poises and circles upward, without a
wing-beat, on the upholding air.