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The Jewish Child; Legend of St. Anthony; The Christmas Rose · Legends of the Saints

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  Section nine of Legends of the Saints by Mary Seymour. This LibriVox recording is
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  in the public domain. Read by Marie Christian. Legend of the Jewish Child.
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  There was at Borges in the earlier ages of the Church, a school
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  to which children of rich or poor families, whether Christians or Jews, could
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  be sent without distinction. One of the Jewish boys, a lad of twelve
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  years, was a general favorite with his companions. Though he was neither rich
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  nor clever, it was because of his gentle, happy disposition they loved him,
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  and they would linger after school was over to play with him. In
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  the cool evening hours, the Christian children often ran into the church and would
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  kneel before an image of the Blessed Virgin, offering her flowers, and if
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  their lessons were very hard to learn, they would go and beg her to
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  help them. The little jew did as the rest, and though he had
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  learnt nothing about the Blessed Mother of God, he prayed to her as earnestly
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  as any of them, and felt quite sure that she heard what he asked
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  from her. Easter time came and numbers of the children were to receive the
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  Holy Euchrist and as the bright morning light streamed in through the eastern window,
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  upon their earnest faces and spotless dresses, the little jew felt such a longing
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  to be one of them that the tears rolled down his cheeks with grief because
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  he was not with the rest. Why might he not go with them,
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  he asked himself. Surely that sweet lady to whom he took his flowers would
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  not shut him out from the children who looked so happy, He too would
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  receive the Christian's food, as he had learned to call it, And so,
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  without any doubt or fear, he knelt with the others, and the
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  priest, who was a stranger, gave him the Holy Communion in his turn.
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  Poor child, he had done it innocently, and perhaps no Christian boy
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  or girl felt greater joy or made more earnest thanksgiving than the little untaught jew.
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  Mass was ended, the boy paid a visit to his favorite image and
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  went home. But he had been away so much longer than usual that his
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  father asked him where he had been. The child told him at once he
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  had been to the Christian's church, and he spoke of the beautiful image and
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  how he loved to visit it. And then he said that on that very
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  morning he had received the Christian's food, which had given him such joy.
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  The father was furious with anger. It would be a blot upon his name
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  forever if it was known that his son had entered a church belonging to the
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  Christians. At that moment, he was tending a blazing furnace, and in
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  his rage he seized the child, and when bitter curses, threw him into
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  the midst of the flames. Presently, the mother came out to seek her
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  child. Where is the boy? She asked her husband, who, turning
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  away, made her no answer, And the poor woman, thinking he must
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  be lost, began to run to and fro, questioning her neighbors and calling
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  the child by name, entreating him to answer her. Still he was not
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  found. Every corner in the house was searched in vain. At last,
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  the mother fancied she had heard a voice which sounded like her son's, and
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  she stopped to listen. It seemed to come from the furnace, And as
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  the neighbors who had gathered together, stood still in terror and surprise, the
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  child's father rushed forward and attempted to throw another huge faggot upon the flaming pile,
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  but one of them held him back, whilst others hurried to extinguish the
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  burning wood and charcoal, And there at last they found the boy. But
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  to their amazement and the grateful joy of the terrified mother, they found that
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  there was not even a hair singed. His cheeks were fresh and cool and
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  rosy. And he told them in his own simple way that the good sweet
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  Lady of the Church had caught him in her arms as his father threw him
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  in, and kept him wrapped in the folds of her white mantle, so
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  that he had never felt the flames. The end of the father is not
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  known, but the mother and child were baptized in the Christian Church, where
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  the little jew had learnt his first simple trust in the Blessed Virgin. End
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  of Legend of the Jewish Child, Legend of Saint Anthony. When the town
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  of Remeni was filled with heretics, Saint Anthony desired to gather them into the
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  Christian Church and explain to them the truths of the sacred scriptures. But when
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  he found that they refused to listen to him, the saint, inspired by
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  God, went down to the sea shore and exclaimed fishes of the ocean,
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  listen, I will preach to you the word of God, which these people
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  refuse to hear. At these words, fish of all sizes rose up before
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  Saint Anthony in numbers which never before had been seen in that part, and
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  ranged themselves in order to hear him. Fishes, my little brothers, the
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  Saint began, you should, as far as possible, return thanks to Him
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  who created you. It is God who placed you where you are. It
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  is he who has given you the refreshing waters in which you live. It
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  is He who has provided for you innumerable places of retreat where you can safely
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  hide from those who would destroy you, and who secures to you your necessary
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  food. On the day of your creation, this God imposed upon you the
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  order to increase and multiply afterwards. At the time of the deluge, you
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  alone, of all other creatures, were preserved from perishing. To you.
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  He gave the keeping for three days and nights of his prophet Jonah. When
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  the Lord Jesus Christ was poor upon earth, he received from you the means
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  of paying tribute money to Caesar. And it was you who were chosen as
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  food for Christ before and after his resurrection in remembering these blessings bestowed on you
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  by God, I call on you to glorify and thank Him from whom you
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  have received them. At these words, the fish inclined their heads and opened
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  their mouths, as if trying to express their gratitude to their maker. Saint
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  Anthony, transported with joy at the sight, exclaimed, blessed be the the
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  Eternal Father, that these fish have rendered him the praise refused him by these
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  people. On hearing of this miracle, all the town came to witness it,
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  and were so touched with compunction that they threw themselves at the Saint's feet
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  and entreated him to instruct them. Then Saint Anthony addressed them with such power
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  and earnestness that many were immediately converted to the Church. And after giving his
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  blessing to the fishes, he dismissed the people to their homes. But during
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  the few days he remained in Remeny, the Saint did a great and lasting
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  work in the souls of all who heard him. End of Legend of Saint
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  Anthony, Legend of the Christmas Rose. It was near the holy time of
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  Christmas, and the snow, which had been falling for many days, lay
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  thickly upon the ground. In a small cottage, a little child was crying
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  with cold and hunger, for there was no fire upon the hearth, no
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  food in the cupboard, and it was left alone while its mother went to
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  the wood near by to gather faggots. Poor little thing, it gazed out
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  sadly upon the trees, all covered with snow, and as the tears ran
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  down its thin, pale cheeks, it cried, Oh, when will the
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  flowers come again? When will the warm sun shine? I wish there was
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  a land where it was always summer, and where the roses bloom forever.
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  The lonely child was startled by a voice which answered, I will bring thee
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  sunshine and give thee flowers too, if thou wilt play with me. And
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  there by the cottage door stood a lovely little boy, with a rosebud in
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  his hand and a smile upon his face, and clothed in a white and
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  sparkling robe. See. I have brought you summer flowers, he said in
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  a sweet, low voice. And the little one who listened saw that wherever
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  he put his feet, fresh blossoms sprang up in the path, and in
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  his gladness he felt the cold no more, but drew his wonderful visitor inside
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  the poor cottage. For a long while they played together, and the stranger
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  told of his own bright home so far away, But I must return there.
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  The lovely little boy added, I cannot stay with you, but I
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  will leave you this sweet rose bud, and when it opens into flower,
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  I will come and take you home with me. And then he disappeared,
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  while the widow's child gazed at the spot where he had been standing, with
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  a longing look upon his little face. It grew dark, but the child
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  was not unhappy. All his sorrow and cold and hunger had been forgotten,
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  and he only wanted his mother to make haste that he might tell his wondrous
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  tale. When the widow came and looked at the happy, eager face of
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  her little one, her heart was pierced with sorrow, for she knew it
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  had been the holy Child who had come to her poor home, and that
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  very very soon he would take her boy to heaven. The Christmas time had
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  come. Still the white snow lay thickly on the ground, but the wonderful
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  rosebud had opened into flower, and its rich fragrance filled the room, And
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  there on his tiny bed lay the little boy as cold as marble, with
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  his blue eyes forever closed, while his mother knelt by his side, weeping
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  and wringing her hands and moaning bitterly. But a sweet voice spoke to her,
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  and as she strove to hush her sobs to listen, it said,
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  why should you weep? Is not this earth a cold and dreary place.
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  Is not your child happier and safer in my father's house. Ah, poor
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  weeping mother, you should rejoyce, for your son is with me here.
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  Look up and see his robes dazzling white, radiant with the glory of heaven.
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  The widow raised her eyes, all dimmed with tears as they were,
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  But no mortal ever knew what rapturous vision met her gaze. For as she
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  clasped her hands in an ecstasy of joy and love, her heart broke under
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  its weight of gladness, and she too had reached the land where the sun
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  shines always, and where the roses never die. End of Legend of the
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  Christmas Rose. End of section nine