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A Quiet Talk about the Babe of Bethlehem
A Quiet Talk about the Babe of Bethlehem
A Quiet Talk about the Babe of Bethlehem
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A Quiet Talk about the Babe of Bethlehem

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A quiet, restful talk concerning the Babe of Bethlehem and of what His coming meant, and still means, to all of mankind.


CrossReach Publications

LanguageEnglish
Release dateDec 19, 2019
A Quiet Talk about the Babe of Bethlehem

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    A Quiet Talk about the Babe of Bethlehem - S. D. Gordon

    Brooks.

    Chapter 1: Mary The Virgin

    SHE WAS A simple-hearted maiden with the light of the morning in her pure face. Straightforwardness and sincerity were in her very pose, and in the look of her clear eye.

    She moved with a swift deft noiselessness, and yet there was a lingering, almost like a caress, in touch and speech and pose that seemed to tell much of her inner nature.

    It was more than thoughtfulness. It was as if she saw through the common things she touched, saw the spirit of which they are the material expression.

    She went the common daily round of simple homely duties. But she saw visions and dreamed dreams, as she faithfully did her appointed tasks.

    There was the unconscious innocent artlessness of a child in face and speech and move. Yet if some principle of right came into question there at once came to the fore a will that was anything but childlike in its strength and maturity.

    Then the flash of eye and set of face and tenseness of body, and withal a greater quietness of word and manner, revealed the will of iron or better of wrought steel. And crossing Napoleon’s Alps were an easy task compared with attempting a crossing here. Whoever tried never got beyond the trying stage.

    She insisted on following every glint and gleam of light that came, however small it might be; and that, too, utterly regardless of difficulties. This was the real touchstone of her character. That is a narrow steep path. It leads out in front of every one’s feet. It is a lonely path, oft untrodden though never unseen.

    She trod it, trod it faithfully, every step of it that opened out in front of a step already trodden. This was the touchstone of her spirit, as of every true life.

    So she kept her life pure inward, warm and simple outward, and open upward. Yet withal the chief impression she gave was of a simple-hearted maiden, with light step, intent on her task.

    This much we learn in Holy Writ of her who was chosen by God to bring to the birth, and to mother the growing human years of His Only-Begotten.

    If you see an apple you know there is an apple tree that bore this bit of fruit. The apple is the fruit of the tree. All of the tree, from unseen root to outmost tip of bough, is in the apple.

    So character reveals itself in the outer expression. Face and voice, action and pose, are the fruit of the inner life. We all recognize some of the fruit. None of us are very expert in recognizing the finer fruits. But they are all there for eyes that may be able to see.

    Her family was one of the oldest in the nation, and one of the most highly honored. For she belonged to the royal line of the great King David. The family records were all sacredly treasured.

    But the sore straits of the nation, so sadly commonplace, had affected her family in many ways. In the drift back and forth under the drive of necessity, the unceasing thought for bed and bread and garb, her branch of the family had swung far from the old ancestral territory.

    It was in little Nazareth of the north that she had grown to young womanhood. Nestled on three sides of a gentle depression on

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