In the sunny land of France, in fair Provence, there dwelt a little orphan girl, who the simple peasantry called Mary's own child, because she believed that all little ones who have no earthly mother's care are specially watched and shielded by the Blessed Virgin.
The girl grew up amidst the woods and fields; she learnt from no books, her only books were the pictured windows of the old church, which showed each mystery of her Blessed Mother's life, and there, day by day, the child knelt before the shrine of Our Lady, and at her feet would say her rosary.
Once it chanced that she was very weary; so weary that she threw herself upon her bed, forgetting all about her rosary as she fell into a heavy sleep.
But she was soon aroused by a wonderful light in the little room and a sweet perfume as the blossoms of numberless roses, whilst a lady stood close by her bed, so fair and beautiful, that the child felt sure she did not belong to earth, and by the twelve bright stars with which she was crowned, and by her blue mantle, she knew that it must be her Mother Mary.
Then the child knelt before her with folded hands and downcast eyes; she had seen that upon Our Lady's robe there were wreaths of roses in a beautiful pattern, but in one place it was not perfect, just a single rose was wanting!
But Mary's sweet soft voice addressed the girl: "My child," she said, "this rose-wreath, so fair and fragrant, is what your love has twined for me from day to day; but how is it that for once your work of love has been undone? How is it that you have forgotten to say my rosary today? Surely you will not be unfaithful. There are so many in the world who forget me and forget my Son, but I cannot spare your love," and then the vision was gone, while the child bowed her head with shame, and large sorrowful tears trickled down her cheeks.
Never again was the rosary forgotten by the girl, day after day she said it, no matter how sorrowful or weary; but from that time she seemed drooping slowly, like a flower that fades in the garden it was as if that vision of her gentle Mother had been a glimpse of heaven and she could linger in the world no more. So, very soon there was a small grave, which pilgrims to Our Lady's shrine go and visit, and are told that the child was laid there whom Mary herself taught to say her rosary.
Source: Legends of the Saints, 1876
A coloring page for the children can be found below.
The girl grew up amidst the woods and fields; she learnt from no books, her only books were the pictured windows of the old church, which showed each mystery of her Blessed Mother's life, and there, day by day, the child knelt before the shrine of Our Lady, and at her feet would say her rosary.
Once it chanced that she was very weary; so weary that she threw herself upon her bed, forgetting all about her rosary as she fell into a heavy sleep.
But she was soon aroused by a wonderful light in the little room and a sweet perfume as the blossoms of numberless roses, whilst a lady stood close by her bed, so fair and beautiful, that the child felt sure she did not belong to earth, and by the twelve bright stars with which she was crowned, and by her blue mantle, she knew that it must be her Mother Mary.
Then the child knelt before her with folded hands and downcast eyes; she had seen that upon Our Lady's robe there were wreaths of roses in a beautiful pattern, but in one place it was not perfect, just a single rose was wanting!
But Mary's sweet soft voice addressed the girl: "My child," she said, "this rose-wreath, so fair and fragrant, is what your love has twined for me from day to day; but how is it that for once your work of love has been undone? How is it that you have forgotten to say my rosary today? Surely you will not be unfaithful. There are so many in the world who forget me and forget my Son, but I cannot spare your love," and then the vision was gone, while the child bowed her head with shame, and large sorrowful tears trickled down her cheeks.
Never again was the rosary forgotten by the girl, day after day she said it, no matter how sorrowful or weary; but from that time she seemed drooping slowly, like a flower that fades in the garden it was as if that vision of her gentle Mother had been a glimpse of heaven and she could linger in the world no more. So, very soon there was a small grave, which pilgrims to Our Lady's shrine go and visit, and are told that the child was laid there whom Mary herself taught to say her rosary.
Source: Legends of the Saints, 1876
A coloring page for the children can be found below.
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