not long after the angel who takes care of the flowers
in God's beautiful garden, sprinkling them with dew in the early morn,
fell asleep one warm summer day beneath the shade of a rose tree.

Awaking refreshed, she turned to the tree, saying, "My beautiful child,
how can I reward thee for the cool shelter of thy sweet-scented
branches?"

And the rose replied, "They call me the most beautiful of flowers. Make
me, I pray thee, even more lovely still, if it be in thy power to do
so."

Then the angel covered her with a coat of soft green moss, wherein she
might hide her blushing face from the gaze of the passers-by.

Now the rose is beloved by all the birds, especially by the nightingale,
the sweetest singer of them all. So great is his love that though

" . . . rich the spot
With every flower this earth has got,
What is it to the nightingale
If there his darling rose is not?"

It is said that when King Solomon, the wisest of kings, was reigning,
the birds of the air came to him one day and told him that they could
not sleep at night because of the weeping of the nightingale.

"But why do you weep?" inquired the King of the nightingale.

And the bird replied, "Once I was dumb, but the rose taught me to sing,
and now I cannot bear to see her rudely handled and her petals crushed
beneath the foot of man."

And indeed the fragrant rose is worthy of our love, for it is among the
most beautiful of our Heavenly Father's gifts to us.

THE HOLY HAY

Fairy Tales from Flowerland
THE HOLY HAY

"Little deeds of kindness,
Little words of love,
Make our earth an Eden
Like the heaven above."
--_Dr. Brewer._

ALMOST two thousand years ago the infant Jesus was laid to sleep in the
manger of the inn at Bethlehem.

His bed was of fresh, sweet hay, among which were some fragments of a
little plant which had grown all unnoticed among the grass.

In wonder the tiny weed listened to the song of the angels as they sang
"the sweetest carol ever heard"; in wonder it saw the precious gifts
offered by the wise men and heard the praises of the shepherds who had
found their Saviour.

"There must be something I can do," whispered the little flower to
itself, and presently the pretty pink blossoms opened and gently twined
themselves into a crown around the baby head.

Some travelers standing near exclaimed "'Tis Holy Hay," and ever since
the pretty blossoms have borne the name of "Saint-foin;