THE PROCESSION OF FLOWERS FROM SPRING TO FALL 95 



much more time. Father Harrison was on for tomorrow, and ho 

 asked that he be put on for today. We will now hear from Father 

 Harrison, on "The Procession of Flowers Prom Spring to Fall." 



It is pretty hard to switch off from apples and give you nothing 

 but flowers, but it has to be done once in a while. 



THE PROCESSION OF FLOWERS FROM SPRING TO FALL. 



By C. S. Harrison, York, Nebraska. 



Flowers have become indispensable, both in life and death. The 

 vegetable garden feeds the body, the flower garden feeds the soul. 

 What a contrast in funerals between the present and the past. Sixty 

 years ago a funeral was the most somber thing that we could 

 imagine. The coffin was home made, filling the house with the 

 sickening cdor of paint and varnish. Everything black and somber. 

 This month we laid away my beloved sister. The room was richly 

 decorated with the gifts of friends. Flowers on the beautiful casket, 

 flowers everywhere, emblems of the everlasting spring into which she 

 has entered. At the grave was a mass of flowers, by the modern 

 appliance of covering the coffin which is covered with beautiful 

 blooms. It slowly recedes from view, and our last look at the loved 

 one, is a vanishing among the choisest things earth affords, and that 

 ib the last. Death is robbed of the sting, and the grave of its terrors; 

 instead of waiting for that awful thud of earth on the coffin, and the 

 filling of the grave, the mourners retire with the memory of that 

 beautiful exit. 



Flowers work marvelous transformation in character. Years 

 ago I saw in Chicago, a drunken Amazon being taken to prison. Six 

 folicemen had all they could do. She was the strongest woman i 

 ever saw, she was making ribbons of some of those fine uniforms. 

 Finally they landed her, and she was like a caged tiger in her cell. 

 A quiet little woman saw it all and pitied wild Mag. She went to 

 a florist and borght a beautiful bouviuet of fragrant roses, and 

 they were delicately done up in a nice box with tissue paper. She 

 went to the jail and wanted to see Mag. They told her it was no 

 use, that she would be torn in pieces, but she went in. The demon 

 woman saw her, and with terrible oaths she said, "You get out of 

 here, or I will throw you out." "No," said the visitor, "I love you 

 Mag." "You lie" said Mag, "There don't anybody love me, the 

 v/hole world hates me, and I hate back again. Now you get out." 

 "Not yet" said the quiet little woman, "See what I have brought you 

 first." Then she untied her package and when Mag breathed the 

 sweet perfume and saw those lovely blooms, her woman's soul came 

 to her, and she wept like a child. The beauty of the lord had con- 



