The Spirit of Christmas by Henry Van Dyke
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Short Excerpt:
As he said this, the young angel rose, with arms outspread, from the green meadow of Peacefield and, passing over the bounds of Heaven, dropped swiftly as a shooting-star toward the night shadow of the Earth. The other angels followed him--a throng of dazzling forms, beautiful as a rain of jewels falling from the dark-blue sky. But the child-angel went more swiftly than the others, because of the certainty of gladness in his heart.
And as the others followed him they wondered who had been favoured and chosen to receive the glad tidings.
"It must be the Emperor of the World and his counsellors," they thought. But the flight passed over Rome.
As he said this, the young angel rose, with arms outspread, from the green meadow of Peacefield and, passing over the bounds of Heaven, dropped swiftly as a shooting-star toward the night shadow of the Earth. The other angels followed him--a throng of dazzling forms, beautiful as a rain of jewels falling from the dark-blue sky. But the child-angel went more swiftly than the others, because of the certainty of gladness in his heart.
And as the others followed him they wondered who had been favoured and chosen to receive the glad tidings.
"It must be the Emperor of the World and his counsellors," they thought. But the flight passed over Rome.
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