Legend of the Poinsettia

Long ago a little girl wept
Beside the altar where Jesus slept
She had no jewels which she could bring
She had no Christmas bells to ring
She feel asleep, an angel came
And whispered softly her sweet name
Tomorrow pluck a weed and wait
Beside the altar until late
Then we will see what we will see
For I will walk there close to thee
Tomorrow came and the weed was placed
Upon the altar and properly graced
Before her eyes a blossom appeared
So vivid and beautiful she feared
To touch the delicate petals of red
With a humble heart she bowed her head
Then once again the angel came
And whispered softly the Poinsettia's name.
By Eunice Lewis Rice