The Little Robber Girl
The Boy Who Cried Wolf
AMERICAN INDIAN STORIES
Animal Sketches And Stories
Blondine Bonne Biche and Beau Minon
BRER RABBIT and HIS NEIGHBORS
CHINESE MOTHER-GOOSE RHYMES
FABLES FOR CHILDREN
FABLES FROM INDIA
FATHER PLAYS AND MOTHER PLAYS
FIRST STORIES FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK
For Classes Ii. And Iii.
For Classes Iv. And V.
For Kindergarten And Class I.
FUN FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK
Good Little Henry
JAPANESE AND OTHER ORIENTAL TALES]
Jean De La Fontaine
King Alexander's Adventures
KINGS AND WARRIORS
LAND AND WATER FAIRIES
Lessons From Nature
LITTLE STORIES that GROW BIG
MODERN FAIRY TALES
MOTHER GOOSE CONTINUED
MOTHER GOOSE JINGLES
MOTHER GOOSE SONGS AND STORIES
Myths And Legends
NEGLECT THE FIRE
ON POPULAR EDUCATION
PLACES AND FAMILIES
Poems Of Nature
RESURRECTION DAY (EASTER)
RHYMES CONCERNING "MOTHER"
RIDING SONGS for FATHER'S KNEE
ROMANCES OF THE MIDDLE AGES
SAINT VALENTINE'S DAY
Selections From The Bible
SLEEPY-TIME SONGS AND STORIES
Some Children's Poets
Songs Of Life
STORIES BY FAVORITE AMERICAN WRITERS
STORIES FOR CHILDREN
STORIES for LITTLE BOYS
STORIES FROM BOTANY
STORIES FROM GREAT BRITAIN
STORIES FROM IRELAND
STORIES FROM PHYSICS
STORIES FROM SCANDINAVIA
STORIES FROM ZOOLOGY
STORIES _for_ LITTLE GIRLS
THE DAYS OF THE WEEK
The King Of The Golden River; Or, The Black Brothers
The Little Grey Mouse
THE OLD FAIRY TALES
The Princess Rosette
THE THREE HERMITS
THE TWO OLD MEN
UNCLES AND AUNTS AND OTHER RELATIVES
VERSES ABOUT FAIRIES
WHAT MEN LIVE BY
WHERE LOVE IS, THERE GOD IS ALSO
The Loveliest Rose In The World
from Good Stories For Great Holidays
- MAY DAY
BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN (ADAPTED)
Once there reigned a queen, in whose garden were found the most glorious
flowers at all seasons and from all the lands of the world. But more
than all others she loved the roses, and she had many kinds of this
flower, from the wild dog-rose with its apple-scented green leaves to
the most splendid, large, crimson roses. They grew against the garden
walls, wound themselves around the pillars and wind-frames, and crept
through the windows into the rooms, and all along the ceilings in the
halls. And the roses were of many colors, and of every fragrance and
But care and sorrow dwelt in those halls. The queen lay upon a sick-bed,
and the doctors said she must die.
"There is still one thing that can save her," said the wise man. "Bring
her the loveliest rose in the world, the rose that is the symbol of the
purest, the brightest love. If that is held before her eyes ere they
close, she will not die."
Then old and young came from every side with roses, the loveliest that
bloomed in each garden, but they were not of the right sort. The flower
was to be plucked from the Garden of Love. But what rose in all that
garden expressed the highest and purest love?
And the poets sang of the loveliest rose in the world,--of the love of
maid and youth, and of the love of dying heroes.
"But they have not named the right flower," said the wise man. "They
have not pointed out the place where it blooms in its splendor. It is
not the rose that springs from the hearts of youthful lovers, though
this rose will ever be fragrant in song. It is not the bloom that
sprouts from the blood flowing from the breast of the hero who dies
for his country, though few deaths are sweeter than his, and no rose is
redder than the blood that flows then. Nor is it the wondrous flower
to which man devotes many a sleepless night and much of his fresh
life,--the magic flower of science."
"But I know where it blooms," said a happy mother, who came with her
pretty child to the bedside of the dying queen. "I know where the
loveliest rose of love may be found. It springs in the blooming cheeks
of my sweet child, when, waking from sleep, it opens its eyes and smiles
tenderly at me."
"Lovely is this rose, but there is a lovelier still," said the wise man.
"I have seen the loveliest, purest rose that blooms," said a woman. "I
saw it on the cheeks of the queen. She had taken off her golden crown.
And in the long, dreary night she carried her sick child in her arms.
She wept, kissed it, and prayed for her child."
"Holy and wonderful is the white rose of a mother's grief," answered the
wise man, "but it is not the one we seek."
"The loveliest rose in the world I saw at the altar of the Lord," said
the good Bishop, "the young maidens went to the Lord's Table. Roses
were blushing and pale roses shining on their fresh cheeks. A young girl
stood there. She looked with all the love and purity of her spirit up to
heaven. That was the expression of the highest and purest love."
"May she be blessed," said the wise man, "but not one of you has yet
named the loveliest rose in the world."
Then there came into the room a child, the queen's little son.
"Mother," cried the boy, "only hear what I have read."
And the child sat by the bedside and read from the Book of Him who
suffered death upon the cross to save men, and even those who were not
yet born. "Greater love there is not."
And a rosy glow spread over the cheeks of the queen, and her eyes
gleamed, for she saw that from the leaves of the Book there bloomed the
loveliest rose, that sprang from the blood of Christ shed on the cross.
"I see it!" she said, "he who beholds this, the loveliest rose on earth,
shall never die."
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