“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.” MAY DAY (MAY 1) THE SNOWDROP [1] BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN (ADAPTED) [Footnote 1: From For the Children's Hour, by Carolyn Sherwin Bailey and Clara M. Lewis. Copyright by the Milton Bradley Company.] The snow lay deep, for it was winter-time. The winter winds blew cold, but there was one house where all was snug and warm. And in the house lay a little flower; in its bulb it lay, under the earth and the snow. One day the rain fell and it trickled through the ice and snow down into the ground. And presently a sunbeam, pointed and slender, pierced down through the earth, and tapped on the bulb. “Come in,” said the flower. “I can't do that,” said the sunbeam; “I'm not strong enough to lift the latch. I shall be stronger when springtime comes.” “When will it be spring?” asked the flower of every little sunbeam that rapped on its door. But for a long time it was winter. The ground was still covered with snow, and every night there was ice in the water. The flower grew quite tired of waiting.