Blossomed in the morning light.
Lilies fair and pure and sweet;
Still with heart unsatisfied:
"All the lilies are so cold;
Ah, could but a rose unfold,
Warm from out the heart of June,
Fragrant in the April noon!"
Then the old man, pitying, smiled,
Half in mockery, on the child:
"Every season has its own;
No June rose was ever known
Rest and slumber to forego,
On an April morn to blow."
"Give me then an Easter rose
Wakeful through the frost and snows,"
Spake the maid, imperious still;
And the florist wrought her will.
On the next year's Easter morn,
Lo! the miracle was born,
And among the lilies came,
One fair rose without a name.
Outer petals white as snow;
Inner, with the tender glow
Of the blended hues of dawn,
Ere the morning's flush is gone--
Faintest tint of seashell rare,
Palest gold of mermaid's hair.
"Wake! O maiden, wake and see!"
Bent the fair head reverently.
"O, my queenly Easter rose,
Never summer flower that blows
"Sweet as thou, or can compare
With thy matchless beauty rare.
"So I think the Virgin stood,
Crowned in her motherhood;
"So I think the Virgin smiled,
Looking on the fair Christ-child.
"Ring out, all ye Easter bells!
Till each happy mother tells
"To the children at her side,
Of the Christ, the crusified;
"Of the babe of wondrous birth,
To the hour he rose from earth."
All that week the Easter rose
Bloomed amid the April snows.
Every morning's sunshine took
From it more of earthly look;
Every morn its petals wore
Paler tint than that before;
Till at last it shone as white
As an angel's wing of light.
Lower bent its regal head;
Faintly sweet, its perfume shed;
Bowed to earth in vesture fair,
As a maiden kneels in prayer;
Then its petals fell apart,
And revealed its virgin heart.
Let the rose, O maiden, be,
Emblem of thy life to thee.
Let each morning's sunlight draw
From it earthly stain or flaw;
Till the light of God shall shine
On no purer heart than thine.
