An Eastern Legend

Grace Duffield Goodwin

There’s a tender eastern legend,
In a volume old and rare
Of the Christ Child in his garden,
Walking with the children there.

And it tells—this strange, sweet story—
(True or false, ah, who shall say?)
How a bird with broken pinion
Dead within the garden lay.

And the children, children cruel,
Lifted it by shattered wing,
Shouting, “Make us merry music,
Sing, you lazy fellow, sing.”

But the Christ Child bent above it,
Took it in his gentle hand,
Full of pity for the suffering
He alone could understand.

Whispered to it—oh, so softly!
Laid his lips upon its throat,
And the song life, swift returning,
Sounded out in one glad note.

Then away, on wings unwearied,
Joyously it sang and soared,
And the little children kneeling
Called the Christ Child, “Master-Lord!”