THE EVENING PRIMROSE.' Ill 



that what was past could not be recalled, and there- 

 fore I nnust not allow my mind to dwell upon it. 

 Miserable comfort it was, and utterly hateful to 

 my soul : but I turned to the sacred volume, and 

 in those two words, ^^ Jesus wept,''^ I read ihe cha- 

 racter of one to whom I could bring my sorrows, 

 who would suffer me to weep before him, and for- 

 give the reproachful thought, that said " Lord, if 

 thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." 



And how beautifully does the bud of my gentle 

 Evening Primrose typify the change that passes 

 on the children of God, when he summons them 

 to burst the fetters of flesh ! It is true that, when 

 the spirit enters into glory, it disappears altogether 

 from our ken, while the glory of the flower is to 

 expand and shine before us. Still the rapidity, the 

 beauty of the transition, occurring too, as it does, 

 at the quiet, solemn hour of closing eve, will force 

 upon the mind a resemblance very sweet to con- 

 template, and gives, at least to me, the idea of hap- 

 py spirits silently encompassing my path, while I 

 meditate on the endearing theme. I sometimes 

 gather the buds, and watch their expansion in my 

 hand, delighting almost as a mother does in the un- 

 closing eye of her slumbering babe. The petals 

 of this flower are very beautiful, and wear a char- 

 acter of refreshing coolness, and durability too, 

 when they open to the pleasant breeze of evening : 

 but all is frail and transitory, destined to endure no 



