Behind the Backlog 



In God's own time 



The sunshine and the showers 



And soft caressing southern airs 



Shall come and bid thee rise. 



And clad in garments green 



And bearing in thy sheltering arms 



The fragrant fruitage of thy heart 



Thou shalt come forth in beauty bright 



To greet a world renewed. 



And in thy blossoms fair 



We find and understand 



The truth. 



The odor of the hyacinth is the one 

 thing in all this world that never fails 

 to take me back at once to another 

 country home. Father's, however, 

 were always potted or placed in water 

 bottles and hidden away somewhere 

 in the deep recesses of the cellar for 

 their hibernation. Mother's cellar! Its 

 shelving laden always with rich stores 

 of sweets, jams, jellies, and preserves; 

 each Mason jar filled and sealed and 

 labeled under her own personal direc- 

 tion! Yes, often the whole inviting 

 process performed by her own busy 



[19] 



