Morning Star

For the Morning Star.

This world is a beautiful garden. Although now and then a noxious weed appears, still there are many beautiful flowers which we never get weary of beholding. Their fragrancy delights, and their beauty charms us. We cast our eyes around, and wish for no other place of abode! But a cloud passes over this beautiful prospect.—Why is thy countenance sad, and what causes those bitter tears to flow? Why are thine eyes cast upward in such agony? And why dost thou long to be laid beneath that grassy mound?

I had found me a beautiful flower.—I had placed my affections upon it, and loved—yes, loved it more than all the flowers of the garden! I had watched its opening beauties from day to day, until my love had increased to adoration! So absorbed was I, that I saw not the approach of the owner of this garden! Can I relate the rest?—I thought him cruel! He passed by many flowers, far less beautiful and beloved, and took mine from before my view. Those who passed by, cast upon me looks of pity, and asked of my sorrow; but I heeded them not—for their hearts were too cold to sympathize with mine! I could have laid me down in the lone and silent grave; for sorrow filled my heart! But he who had done this bid me rise and tarry yet a little longer, to watch the flowers that still remained, to care for those that were down-trodden and crushed, to put beneath them the supporting hand, and water them with tears of sweet affection. I turned to him and would know of the flower he had taken?

"The winds of this garden were too chilly.—The soil too cold and barren. The winter's frost would have injured the sweetness and beauty of thy tender flower! I have removed it to a more congenial climate! What thou knowest not now, thou shalt know hereafter,—Be still and know that I am GOD."

ELIZABETH.
Newburyport, June 12th, 1845.