New England Religious Herald

LESSON FROM A FLOWER.

"There is a flower which I found, when little expecting it, amid the dry leaves," said a friend to me, this cold morning, at the same time presenting one of Flora's little gems, which seemed to return my greeting smile as I gazed upon it. Thus amid surrounding moral desolation, are sometimes flowers of rare loveliness—plants which the Lord hath planted—whose constant aspiration heavenward, of ardent love and gratitude, like the flower's long fragrant blossoming amid autumnal chills, seems of peculiar worth in circumstances so unfavorable to its development. Thus, exposed to the blighting contact of sin and worldliness, and meekly enduring keen reproach or persecution, through the abounding grace of Christ do many ripen for the paradise of God: unknown and unnoticed by the world; perhaps not even a christian companion near to cheer their lonely pilgrimage. Sweet flower! attracting the passenger by thy sweet expression of meek content, and cheering him with thine upward look of trustful hope,—thou teachest him a valuable lesson. Receiving, in thy lowly bed, the little light and warmth which Heaven is pleased to bestow—while stronger and loftier ones have failed beneath the wintry blast, and are drooping all around—thou seemest like some humble saint, bearing, undismayed, the storms of life, and spiritually thriving even in the bleak season of adversity.—

Lovely little blossom! Thy very loneliness was thy protection. Scattering thy sweet perfume around as if thou wouldst still strive, in thy desolateness and weakness, to benefit and gladden others, how profitable a lesson may I learn from thee! Turning thyself daily towards the genial sun, thou art a mute but eloquent instructor in thy adverse state ever looking to the source of light and life. Precious little flower! I will preserve thee between these leaves; for a sweet lesson I have learned from thee—as plainly as if it were written on thy tender petals with the finger of God.

Oft have I placed myself beside a flower-stand, in a dark stormy day, and marked with interest the expanding blossoms, as they meekly turned towards the window to receive the scanty portion of light there admitted. Thus are there some gracious minds, which, (like the flower) in sunshine or in storm, seem ever to turn towards the light;—a beautiful habit seldom acquired in prosperity—and doubly valuable if it forsake them not in adversity. To such there is always light, and they must necessarily reflect some of it on those about them. As the sight of fair and flourishing flowers is a cheerful one—whether they be found in summer or winter, in light or in shade—so in joy or woe the healthful and habitual cheerfulness of the happy Christian is most salutary in its influence. Not only looking ever from the dark to the light side; but constantly looking to his Sun—in joy his great source of happiness, without which (even were all others continued) he cannot spiritually exist—in sorrow his unfailing fountain of consolation, which will ever support and cheer, though all creature comforts, like the withered grass and the blighted flowers, have perished around him and left him, in a temporal sense desolate and alone.

Children, relation, friends; honors, houses, lands, and endowments, the goods of this life, are only lent. It is our misfortune to fancy they are given. We start, therefore, and are angry when the loan is called in. We think ourselves masters, when we are only stewards, and forget that to each of us will it one day be said, "Give an account of thy stewardship." -Bishop Horne.