ALL roses were white, in the long ago,
According to flower lore;
But one day an angel passed by that way
As a message of love he bore
To a sorrowful soul bowed down by woe,
And weary with ceaseless pain,
And as he noticed the fragrant white flowers,
He poised on the wing amain,
And quickly approaching those roses sweet,
A beautiful bud to pick,
He whispered, "I'll take it with word of love
I bear to the lonely sick."
But as he plucked the beauteous flower,
Whose soft cheek was pale as death,
He said, "As my errand this time brings life—
I will warm it with my breath."
So he kissed the cheek of the fair white rose,
Which 'neath his thrilling touch blushed,
And with message of love, and pink rose of hope,
The sighs of the sick one he hushed.
And ever since then, when a rose is red,
Or blushes with delicate tint,
A kiss, from some angel of love and life,
On its cheek has left its imprint.
Lydia Hoyt Farmer.