THE POETRY OP FLOWERS. 35 
appointed time give place to the fructifying and 
genial influence of spring. Perhaps we have mur¬ 
mured (for what is there in the ordinations of 
Providence at which man will not dare to mur¬ 
mur?) at the dreariness of winter. Perhaps we 
have felt the rough blast too piercing to accord 
with our artificial habits. Perhaps we have 
thought long of the melting of the snow that im¬ 
peded our noonday walk. But it vanishes at 
last; and there, beneath its white coverlet, lies the 
delicate snowdrop, so pure and pale, so true an 
emblem of hope, and trust, and confidence, that it 
might teach a lesson to the desponding, and show 
the useless and inactive how invaluable are the 
stirrings of that energy that can work out its pur¬ 
pose in secret, and under oppression, and be ready 
in the fulness of time to make that purpose mani¬ 
fest and complete. The snowdrop teaches also 
another lesson. It marks out the progress of time. 
We cannot behold it without feeling that another 
spring has come, and immediately our thoughts 
recur to the events which have occurred since last 
its fairy bells were expanded. We think of those 
who were near and dear to us then. It is possible 
they may never be near again ; it is equally possi¬ 
ble they may be dear no longer. Memory is busy 
with the past; until anticipation takes up the 
chain of thought, and we conjure up, and at last 
shape out in characters of hope, a long succession 
of chances and changes to fill up the revolving 
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