A Christmas Idyl
A Christmas Idyl,
A Christmas Idyl
1. In solemn council sat the Gods. From Kolob’s height supreme, Celestial light blazed forth afar O’er countless Kokaubeam. Reflected whence fell radiant gleams Of that resplendent day, Far down the dark abysmal realm Where Earth in chaos lay.
2. Rapt silence reigned. The hour was one When Thought doth most avail. The destiny of worlds unborn Hung trembling in the scale. A hush profound—and there uprose, Those Kings and Priests among, A Pow’r sublime, than whom appeared None mightier ’mid the throng.
3. A stature mingling strength and grace, Of meek though godlike mien, The lustre of whose countenance Outshone the noonday sheen. The hair was white as purest foam, Or frost of Alpine hill. He spake—attention grew more grave— The stillness e’en more still.
4. “Father!”—the voice like music fell, Clear as the murmuring flow Of mountain streamlet, trickling down From heights of virgin snow— “Father,” it said, “since One must die Thy children to redeem, Whilst Earth—as yet unformed and void— With pulsing life shall teem;
5. “And thou, great Michael, foremost fall That mortal man may be, And chosen Savior yet must send, Lo, here am I, send me! I ask—I seek no recompense, Save that which then were mine; Mine be the willing sacrifice, The endless glory—Thine!”
6. He ceased and sat; when sudden rose Aloft a towering Form, Proudly erect as lowering peak That looms above the storm. A Presence bright and beautiful, With eye of flashing fire, A lip whose haughty curl bespoke A sense of inward ire.
7. “Give me to go,” he boldly cried, With scarce concealed disdain, “And none shall hence, from Heav’n to Earth, That shall not rise again. My saving plan exception scorns— Man’s agency unknown. As recompense—I claim the right To sit on yonder Throne!”
8. Ceased Lucifer. The breathless hush Resumed and denser grew. All eyes were turned—the general gaze One common magnet drew. A moment there was solemn pause— Then, like the thunder-burst, Rolled forth from lips Omnipotent, The words: “I’ll send the first!”
9. ’Twas done. From congregation vast, Tumultuous murmurs rose— Waves of conflicting sound, as when Two meeting seas oppose. ’Twas finished—but the heavens wept— And still their annals tell How God’s elect was chosen Christ, O’er One who fighting fell.
- Author: Orson F. Whitney
- Collection: A Christmas Idyl (1883)