When God first viewed the rose 
He'd made He smiled, and thought it passing fair; 
Upon the bloom His hands He laid, 
And gently blessed each petal there. 
He summoned in His artists then 
And bade them paint, as ne'er before, 
Each petal, so that earthly men 
Might love the rose for evermore. 
With Heavenly brushes they began 
And one with red limned every leaf, 
To signify the love of man; T 
he first rose, white, betokened grief; 
"My rose shall deck the bride," one said 
And so in pink he dipped his brush, 
"And it shall smile beside the dead 
To typify the faded blush." 
And then they came unto His throne 
And laid the roses at His feet, 
The crimson bud, the bloom full blown, 
Filling the air with fragrance sweet. 
"Well done, well done!" the Master spake; 
"Henceforth the rose shall bloom on earth: 
One fairer blossom I will make," 
And then a little babe had birth. 
On earth a loving mother lay 
Within a rose-decked room and smiled, 
But from the blossoms turned away 
To gently kiss her little child, 
And then she murmured soft and low, 
"For beauty, here, a mother seeks. 
None but the Master made, I know, 
The roses in a baby's cheeks." 
~Edgar Guest 

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