fluttered in the air like a long, green ribbon, sat a grasshopper, cleaning his
wings with his legs. May beetles hummed, the bees murmured, the birds
sang, each in his own way; the air was filled with the sounds of song and
gladness.
“But where is the little blue flower that grows by the water?” asked the
oak, “and the purple bell-flower, and the daisy?” You see the oak wanted to
have them all with him.
“Here we are, we are here,” sounded in voice and song.
“But the beautiful thyme of last summer, where is that? and the lilies-of-
the-valley, which last year covered the earth with their bloom? and the wild
apple-tree with its lovely blossoms, and all the glory of the wood, which has
flourished year after year? even what may have but now sprouted forth
could be with us here.”
“We are here, we are here,” sounded voices higher in the air, as if they
had flown there beforehand.
“Why this is beautiful, too beautiful to be believed,” said the oak in a
joyful tone. “I have them all here, both great and small; not one has been
forgotten. Can such happiness be imagined?” It seemed almost impossible.
“In heaven with the Eternal God, it can be imagined, and it is possible,”
sounded the reply through the air.
And the old tree, as it still grew upwards and onwards, felt that his roots
were loosening themselves from the earth.
“It is right so, it is best,” said the tree, “no fetters hold me now. I can fly
up to the very highest point in light and glory. And all I love are with me,
both small and great. All-all are here.”
Such was the dream of the old oak: and while he dreamed, a mighty
storm came rushing over land and sea, at the holy Christmas time. The sea
rolled in great billows towards the shore. There was a cracking and crushing
heard in the tree. The root was torn from the ground just at the moment
when in his dream he fancied it was being loosened from the earth. He fell-
