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Sat, 08 Aug 2009
Gold and Silver, Angels and Flowers. Unite them both with a life past it's hours.
                             THE ANGEL

"Whenever a child dies, an angel comes down from heaven, takes the   child in its arms, and, spreading out its large white wings, visits all the places that had been particularly dear to the child, where it gathers a handful of flowers, flying up again to heaven with them, and there they bloom more beautifully than on earth: but that flower which it loves the most receives a voice, so that it can join in the universal chorus of thanksgiving and praise."

      Thus spoke an angel whilst carrying a dead child up to heaven; and the child listened as in a dream; and they visited the places that had been most dear to the child whilst alive, and where it had played, passing through gardens full of the most beautiful flowers.
"What flowers shall we take with us to plant in heaven," the angel asked.
      They gathered of the beautiful plants, the perfume and the colours of which delighted mankind: but the despised buttercup and the wild pansy, they took with them also.

"Now we have flowers,"  said the child, and the angel nodded. But they still did not fly up to heaven. It was night and all was quiet; but yet they remained in the large town, hovering over one of the narrowest streets, where there were heaps of straw, ashes and all manner of rubbish, for it was quarter day, when many people change their lodgings. There lay broken plates, pieces of plaster, the crowns of old hats, and rags of all sorts - in short, a mass of things in no way pleasing to the eye.
       The angel pointed down among all the rubbish to some pieces of a broken flower pot, and a
lump of earth which had fallen out of it held together by the roots of a large dried up wild flower, which had been thrown into the street as useless.
"That we will take with us." the angel said: "I will tell you why as we fly on."

'And this is what the angel then said.' 
"There below in that narrow street in a cellar, lived a poor, sick boy, who from his earliest years has been bedridden. When at his best he could manage to walk around the room a couple of
flower dying
in its pottimes on his crutches, and that was all. He only knew of the green forest by the son of a neighbour bringing him the first branch of a beech tree that was out in leaf, which he held over his head fancying that he was in the forest under the beech trees, with the sun shining and the thirds singing.  One day in spring the neighbours son brought him wild flowers, amongst which there happened to be one that had its roots, and it was therefore set in a pot and placed near his bed. The flower flourished, sending forth new shoots and blossomed every year so that it became the sick boys flower garden, his greatest comfort and treasure here on earth. He watered it and watched it every day, taking care that it had even to the last ray of sun which glided through the low window.
      The flower became identified with his dreams, for it was for him alone it blossomed, delighting him by its scent and beautiful colours, and to it he turned in death. It is now a year that he has been in heaven, and for a year the flower has stood, forgotten and dried up.
"And how do you know all this?" the child asked.
"I know it," the angel answered, " because I myself was the poor sick boy who walked on crutches and I know my flower well."
In the window, till during the moving, it was thrown out into the street. And that is the flower, which we have placed in our nosegay, for it has given more pleasure than the most beautiful flower in the garden of a queen."

      The child now thoroughly opened her eyes, and looked up into the angel's beautiful face, which beamed with happiness and at the same moment they were in heaven, where joy and bliss reigned. The dead child received wings like the other angels, with whom she flew about hand in hand. The flowers, well they received their new life whereas the poor withered wild flowers of the angel received a voice, and was able to sing with the angels.
All sang their praises and thanksgiving, to the child who had just arrived in heaven, and
to the poor wild flower, which had been thrown out amongst the rubbish in the narrow dark street.
Posted 14:45

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