A Lesson from a Rose

“I’d like a little rose to place

Upon my dresser in a vase.”

The pleading eyes of amber hues

How could that look a man refuse?

“Just wait a bit,” the father smiled,

While looking fondly on his child.

“When gone are all the wintry snows

We’ll go and pick a perfect rose!”

The child turned her face away,

“I’ll go and pick one anyway.

My father has great things on mind

And though means only to be kind,

Still I have seen the scarlet blooms

And if I do not take one soon

They’ll wither and then turn to slime

Before my father finds the time.”

So saying, she her small steps took

Down to the arbor near the brook.

She gazed long moments at the wall

All covered with the buds still small

And wondered which the blushing sun

Would mark out as the perfect one.

Her dimpled hand reached out to take

The tender bud yet unawake

Still nodding in the morning light

Before the summer kissed it bright.

Into the vase the small flower went

Without the slightest accident

And soon it graced the dresser top.

It never bloomed, but drooped then dropped.

A flower with perfection’s plan

Was ruined by impatient hands.

The father saw the child’s choice

And though he never raised his voice,

He sighed that it should never come

To fullest beauty in the sun.

He’d raised that rose with her in mind

But his love’s gift she’d undermined

And what, if left to him, would be

The perfect bloom of purity,

Because once plucked it withered there

Was never seen in beauty rare.

How often we grasp much too soon

And seize God’s blessings ere they bloom

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