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The Angel
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Music to accompany this page:
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"Whenever a child dies, an angel comes down from heaven, takes the child in its arms, spreads out its large white wings, and visits all the places that had been particularly dear to the child. From the best-loved place that had been, the angel gathers a handful of flowers, flying up again to heaven with them. There, they bloom more beautifully than on earth. But that flower which is most loved receives a voice, so that it can join the song of the chorus of bliss." Thus spoke an angel, while carrying a 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, and where the little one had often played, passing through the gardens full of the most beautiful flowers. "Which flowers shall we take with us to plant in heaven?" the angel asked. Now there stood a solitary rosebush of extraordinary beauty, but a mischievous hand had wantonly broken the stem, so that all the branches, recently of such a beautiful green, laden with half-opened buds, hung down, withered and sad, upon the mossy ground below. "Oh, that dear little bush!" the child sighed. "Let us take it with us so that in heaven it may bloom again ." The angel took the rosebush, kissing the child at the same time, and the little thing half opened its eyes. The angel gathered some lovely flowers, the perfume and colors of which were delightful, as well as a few humble buttercups and wild pansies. "Now we have flowers," the child said, and the angel nodded. But still the did not fly to heaven. It was night, and all was quiet; but 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 a day when many people changed their lodgings. There lay broken plates, pieces of plaster, the crown of old hats, and rags of all kind-in short, a mass of things in no way pleasing to the eye. The angel pointed down among all this rubbish to some pieces of a broken flowerpot, and lump of earth which had fallen out of it, held together by the roots of a withered wildflower,which had been thrown among the rubbish. "That we will take with us," the angel said. "I will tell you why as we fly on." And the angel spoke thus: "There below, in that narrow lane, in a cellar, lived a poor sick boy, who from his earliest years had been bedridden. Even on his best days he could only manage around the room a couple times on his crutches. On some days during the summer, the sun's rays shone upon the floor of the cellar for half an hour. When the boy sat there warming himself in the sun, and wondering at the red blood which he saw through his thin fingers as he held them up to his face, he would say, "Today I have been out." He only knew of the green forest when the son of a neighbor brought him to the first branch of a beech tree that was out in leaf. He held over his head, imagining that he was in the forest among the beech trees, with the sun shining and birds singing. "One day in the spring the neighbor's son brought brought him some wildflowers, among which there happened to be one that had its roots, and it was set in a pot and placed near his bed. The flower flourished, sending forth new shoots. It blossomed every year, so that it became the sick boy's flower garden, his greatest comfort and treasure on earth. He watered it and watched it, and took care that it had the benefit of even the last ray of the sun which glided through the low window. The flower entwined itself in his dreams, for it blossomed for him alone, delighting him with its scent and its beautiful colors. It gladdened his eyes, and to the flower he turned, even in death. It is now a year he has been in heaven, and for a year the flower has stood, forgotten and dried-up in the window, until today during the moving, it was thrown out into the street. And, that is the flower, the poor withered flower, which we have added to our bouquet, for it has given more pleasure than the most beautiful flower in the garden of a queen." "And how do you know all this?" the child asked. "I know it," the angel answered, "because I myself was that poor sick boy who walked on crutches. I know my flower well." Then the child opened its 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 child received wings like the other angel, and they flew about together, hand in hand. The flowers received renewed life; but the poor withered wildflower received voice and sang with the angels, with whom the whole space of the heavens was filled, in circles, one row behind the other, further and further back, and so on to infinity, all being equally happy. All sang praises and thanksgiving - the child just received into heaven, and the poor wildflower which had been cast away on a heap of rubbish in a narrow, dark street. | ||||||||||||
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