302 
BRAMBLES AND BAY LEAVES. 
and the snows of life's winter lie upon our heads, this 
passion dies not. The eye, which was dim and lustre¬ 
less, kindles with new light; and the step, which was 
feeble and tottering, becomes firm and steadfast, when 
nature sheds her sweet influences around us; and of those 
influences, how many are mixed up with flow r ers! 
Flowers are friends that change not. In youth, they 
greet us with their sunny smiles; in age they speak to 
us of boyhood, and lead us back to the scenes made deer 
by recollections of home; year after year, as we hasten 
onward to complete the cycle of our being, they still 
abide with us, and offer solace. And when sickness and 
sorrow have broken down the spirit, and we lie down to 
rest, with the red earth for a pillow, the flowers come in 
joyful troops to guard our resting-place from rash foot¬ 
steps and unhallowed intrusions. And then the “ green 
grass, and clover, and sweet herbs"—made fragrant by 
the soft dews and early glances of the sun—sanctify the 
air which sweeps above our graves; and all day long the 
grasses wave in the wind, and the flowers sing sweet 
dirges over the green mounds which mark our resting- 
place; and at night, the sentinel stars come forth to 
keep watch over us, and the flowers become sorrowful in 
the still silence, for, as the poets say, they are stars 
too, though set in a firmament of greenness. 
Come with me, thou toiler in the dusty city; shake 
off the cloud from thy brow; forget for awhile the 
pence and shillings for which thou hast sold thy soul; 
and I will lead thee under green forest trees, over soft 
mossy hillocks, and beside cool running brooks,w r here the 
w r ater-ilags play with each other, and look at their own 
