THE
ANGEL
By Hans Christian Andersen
"WHENEVER a good child dies, an angel of
God comes down from heaven, takes the dead child in his arms, spreads out
his great white wings, and flies with him over all the places which the
child had loved during his life. Then he gathers a large handful of flowers,
which he carries up to the Almighty, that they may bloom more brightly
in heaven than they do on earth. And the Almighty presses the flowers to
His heart, but He kisses the flower that pleases Him best, and it receives
a voice, and is able to join the song of the chorus of bliss."
These words were spoken by an angel of God,
as he carried a dead child up to heaven, and the child listened as if in
a dream. Then they passed over well-known spots, where the little one had
often played, and through beautiful gardens full of lovely flowers.
"Which of these shall we take with us to
heaven to be transplanted there?" asked the angel.
Close by grew a slender, beautiful, rose-bush,
but some wicked hand had broken the stem, and the half-opened rosebuds
hung faded and withered on the trailing branches.
"Poor rose-bush!" said the child, "let us
take it with us to heaven, that it may bloom above in God's garden."
The angel took up the rose-bush; then he
kissed the child, and the little one half opened his eyes. The angel gathered
also some beautiful flowers, as well as a few humble buttercups and heart's-ease.
"Now we have flowers enough," said the child;
but the angel only nodded, he did not fly upward to heaven.
It was night, and quite still in the great
town. Here they remained, and the angel hovered over a small, narrow street,
in which lay a large heap of straw, ashes, and sweepings from the houses
of people who had removed. There lay fragments of plates, pieces
of plaster, rags, old hats, and other rubbish not pleasant to see. Amidst
all this confusion, the angel pointed to the pieces of a broken flower-pot,
and to a lump of earth which had fallen out of it. The earth had been kept
from falling to pieces by the roots of a withered field-flower, which had
been thrown amongst the rubbish.
"We will take this with us," said the angel,
"I will tell you why as we fly along."
And as they flew the angel related the history.
"Down in that narrow lane, in a low cellar,
lived a poor sick boy; he had been afflicted from his childhood, and even
in his best days he could just manage to walk up and down the room on crutches
once or twice, but no more. During some days in summer, the sunbeams would
lie on the floor of the cellar for about half an hour. In this spot the
poor sick boy would sit warming himself in the sunshine, and watching the
red blood through his delicate fingers as he held them before his face.
Then he would say he had been out, yet he knew nothing of the green forest
in its spring verdure, till a neighbor's son brought him a green bough
from a beech-tree. This he would place over his head, and fancy that he
was in the beech-wood while the sun shone, and the birds carolled gayly.
One spring day the neighbor's boy brought him some field-flowers, and among
them was one to which the root still adhered. This he carefully planted
in a flower-pot, and placed in a window-seat near his bed. And the flower
had been planted by a fortunate hand, for it grew, put forth fresh shoots,
and blossomed every year. It became a splendid flower-garden to the sick
boy, and his little treasure upon earth. He watered it, and cherished it,
and took care it should have the benefit of every sunbeam that found its
way into the cellar, from the earliest morning ray to the evening sunset.
The flower entwined itself even in his dreams- for him it bloomed, for
him spread its perfume. And it gladdened his eyes, and to the flower
he turned, even in death, when the Lord called him. He has been one year
with God. During that time the flower has stood in the window, withered
and forgotten, till at length cast out among the sweepings into the street,
on the day of the lodgers' removal. And this poor flower, withered
and faded as it is, we have added to our nosegay, because it gave more
real joy than the most beautiful flower in the garden of a queen."
"But how do you know all this?" asked the
child whom the angel was carrying to heaven.
"I know it," said the angel, "because I myself
was the poor sick boy who walked upon crutches, and I know my own flower
well."
Then the child opened his eyes and looked
into the glorious happy face of the angel, and at the same moment they
found themselves in that heavenly home where all is happiness and joy.
And God pressed the dead child to His heart, and wings were given him so
that he could fly with the angel, hand in hand. Then the Almighty pressed
all the flowers to His heart; but He kissed the withered field-flower,
and it received a voice. Then it joined in the song of the angels, who
surrounded the throne, some near, and others in a distant circle, but all
equally happy. They all joined in the chorus of praise, both great and
small,- the good, happy child, and the poor field-flower, that once lay
withered and cast away on a heap of rubbish in a narrow, dark street.
THE END
Go to: http://www.pacificnet.net/~johnr/aesop/aesophca.html,
to read more Hans Christian Andersen Fairy Tales.
Dear God,
So far, today,
I've done all right. I haven't gossiped or lost my temper.
I haven't been greedy, grumpy, nasty, or self centered. I'm really
happy about that so far. But in a few minutes I'm going to be getting
out of bed and then I'm going to need a lot of help. Thank you!
Amen
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