108 BRAMBLES AND BAY LEAVES. 



of her faculties. No wreath could have been chosen more emble- 

 matical of the sorrows of this beautiful blossom, blighted by disap- 

 pointed love, and withered by filial sorrow.* 



"We may learn much from this language of flowers. The alphabet 

 of Nature is rich in eloquent teachings, and appropriate, though mute> 

 language, expressive of the hopes and fears which dwell in 

 every human breast. Flowers are appropriate symbols of human 

 feelings and passions, and the sentiments and emotions which sway 

 and agitate the soul of man : — 



Those token-flowers tell, 

 What words can ne'er express so well. 



And so, too, might have sung the Israelite of old, when wandering on 

 the flowery banks of Jordan ; or the Babylonian, when musing on 

 the grassy borders of the Euphrates ; or the swarthy son of Egypt, 

 when kneeling in worship beside the sacred waters of the Nile. 

 Flowers were the most prominent feature in the sjrmbolic languages 

 of antiquity, and originated in the true language of Nature, when 

 the human heart made its first utterances. And when flowers were 

 recognized as proofs and manifestations of divine love, they immedi- 

 ately became living symbols of human history, and foretokens of the 

 events and purposes which were locked up in the unborn ages, and 

 which were to be slowly unfolded to the human family, as Time 

 sailed and ages were developed. Let them be symbolical to us in 

 every place and season ; and when Nature puts on her summer attire, 

 and in her thousand varieties of flowers shows us the sweetest of her 

 smiles, we may, through these silent preachers, become partakers of 

 the joy which is wafted to them by the breezes of the morning. If 

 the typical resemblances of flowers moved the men of old to vene- 

 ration and worship, and kindled in their hearts noble aspirations, it 

 may do the same for us, and teach us in the hour of affliction, or in 

 the exuberance of joy, still to look up to 



That God, who grows not old ! 



Who built the earth, and piled, from grassy vales, 

 The pillar-mountains to sustain yon roof, 

 Resplendent and serene; — who hung out lamps. 

 To cast their calm lights o'er the deep, when storms 

 Rise muttering ; — whose hand hath shed wild flowers 



* H. G. Adams. 



