e poets sang of the loveliest rose in the world, and each one
named his own; and intelligence was sent far round the land to every
heart that beat with love, to every class and condition, and to every
age.

"No one has till now named the flower," said the wise man. "No one has
pointed out the place where it bloomed in its splendor. They are not the
roses from the coffin of Romeo and Juliet, or from the Walburg's grave,
though these roses will be ever fragrant in song. They are not the roses
that sprouted forth from Winkelried's blood-stained lances, from the
blood that flows in a sacred cause from the breast of the hero who dies
for his country; though no death is sweeter than this, and no rose
redder than the blood that flows then. Nor is it that wondrous flower,
to cherish which man devotes, in a quiet chamber, many a sleepless
night, and much of his fresh life--the magic flower of science."

"I know where it blooms," said a happy mother, who came with her pretty
child to the bedside of the Queen. "I know where the loveliest rose of
the world is found! The rose that is the expression of the highest and
purest love springs from the blooming cheeks of my sweet child when,
strengthened by sleep, it opens its eyes and smiles at me with all its
affection!"

"Lovely is this rose; but there is still a lovelier," said the wise man.

"Yes, a far lovelier one," said one of the women. "I have seen it, and a
loftier, purer rose does not bloom. I saw it on the cheeks of the
Queen. She had taken off her golden crown, and in the long dreary night
she was carrying her sick child in her arms: she wept, kissed it, and
prayed for her child as a mother prays in the 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 of the world I saw at the altar of the Lord,"
said the good old Bishop. "I saw it shine as if an angel's face had
appeared. The young maidens went to the Lord's Table, and renewed the
promise made at their baptism, and roses were blushing, and pale roses
shining on their fresh cheeks. A young girl stood there; she looked with
all the purity and love of her young 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 to me the loveliest rose of the world."

Then there came into the room a child, the Queen's little son. Tears
stood in