168 THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 



to that which, whether in time or in eternity, fadeth 

 not away ? It is the weightiest part of the curse 

 that so presses our souls into the dust, inclining us 

 to lade ourselves with thick clay, in the face of 

 the acknowledged fact, that it must crumble and 

 fall off. I task myself continually with the diffi- 

 cult work of applying this lesson, so easily learnt 

 in word ; so hard to reduce to practice : but while 

 I treasure up with jealous care the fragments of 

 every broken tie, and would not relinquish one of 

 them, nor forget how the bursting of it rent my in- 

 most heart, I am ever ready to the unwise occupa- 

 tion of forming new ones, to be in like manner 

 served, and to plant an additional pang. It is 

 partly a consciousness of this that sends me to the 

 flowers of my new year's greeting : they are not 

 individualized, like the loved ones of my own race. 

 I can take a Christmas rose, and, in every point, 

 identify it with the first that attracted my childish 

 notice. It seems to be an actual relic of the scene 

 so gay in lengthened distance ; it has, I know not 

 how, outlived the bloom of all, the mortal existence 

 of many, whose laughing countenances shone round 

 me that day. By being the representative of a 

 whole assemblage, some of whom are now on 

 their way rejoicing, together with me, that they 

 have been led to seek a city which hath foundations, 

 the sigh of regret is softened as I gaze on the 

 flower, and I feel an acquiescence in the common 



