The Loveliest Rose in the World

Sham S. Misri

Once upon a time there lived once a queen. She had a beautiful garden. Her garden had all season flowers from every land in the world. The queen loved roses, and therefore she possessed the most beautiful varieties of this flower.  The garden had the wild hedge-rose, the black rose, the red Rose, yellow rose; Pink rose etc. They grew near the shelter of the walls, wound themselves round columns and window-frames, and crept along passages and over the ceilings of the halls. They were of every fragrance and color.

But care and sorrow dwelt within these halls; the queen lay upon a sick bed, and the doctors declared that she may die. “There is still one thing that could save her,” said one of the wisest among them. “Bring her the loveliest rose in the world; one which exhibits the purest and brightest love, and if it is brought to her before her eyes close, she will not die.”

Roses were then brought from all gardens where they bloomed. But nobody brought the right sort.  The flower must be one from the garden of love; but which of the roses there showed the highest and purest love? The poets sang of this rose, the loveliest in the world, and each named one which he considered worthy of that title. The rose of Love, which was required was sent far and wide to every heart that beat with love; to every class, age, and condition.

“No one has yet named the flower,” said the wise man. “No one has pointed out the spot where it blooms in all its splendour.  It is not a rose from the coffin of Romeo and Juliet, though these roses will live in everlasting song. It is not one of the roses which sprouted from the blood which flows from the breast of a hero who dies for his country. No rose can be redder than the blood which flows from his veins.

“I know where it blooms,” said a happy mother, who came with her lovely child to the bedside of the queen. “I know where the loveliest rose in the world is. It is seen on the blooming cheeks of my sweet child, when it expresses the pure and holy love of infancy; when refreshed by sleep it opens its eyes, and smiles upon me with childlike affection.”

“This is a lovely rose,” said the wise man; “but there is one still lovelier.”

“Yes, one far more lovely,” said one of the women. “I have seen it, and a loftier and purer rose does not bloom. But it was white, like the leaves of a blush-rose. I saw it on the cheeks of the queen. She had taken off her golden crown, and through the long, dreary night, she carried her sick child in her arms. She wept over it, kissed it, and prayed for it as only a mother can pray in that hour of her anguish.”

“Holy and wonderful in its might is the white rose of grief, but it is not the one we seek.”

“No; the loveliest rose in the world I saw at the Lord’s Table,” said the good old priest. “I saw it shine as if an angel’s face had appeared. A young maiden knelt at the altar, and renewed the vows made at her baptism; and there were white roses and red roses on the blushing cheeks of that young girl. She looked up to heaven with all the purity and love of her young spirit, in all the expression of the highest and purest love.”

“May she be blessed!” said the wise man: “but no one has yet named the loveliest rose in the world.”

Then there came into the room a child—the queen’s little son. Tears stood in his eyes, and shined on his cheeks. He carried a great book having velvet binding, with silver clasps, in his hand. “Mother,” cried the little boy; “only hear what I have to read.” And the child seated himself by the bedside, and read from the Holy book, who suffered death on the cross to save all men. He read, “Greater love hath no man than this,” and as he read a rose red colour spread over the cheeks of the queen. Her eyes became bright and clear. She saw from the leaves of the book a lovely rose emerge.

“I see it,” she said. “He who beholds this, the loveliest rose on earth, shall never die.”