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;
  The 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 A. Guest

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