“Fresh Flowers.”
This is the pleasant title of a pleasant book, which a kind friend has sent me. There is a resemblance between bright thoughts and bright blossoms, between the world of poetry and the world of roses, and honeysuckles, and lilacs, and lilies: and therefore the title of this book is not only pretty, but appropriate. Let any one read the following, and he will see that such a book may well bear the title of “Fresh Flowers.”
A TALK AMONG THE FLOWERS.
“Do flowers talk?” said Caroline;
“I never hear
Voices from mine.
Mamma, you said the flowers told
Wondrous things, both new and old.”
“Sweet voices come from every flower,
That blooms in garden,
Wood or bower;
Sweet, silent voices, Caroline:
Come then and listen, daughter mine.”
“I will to you a story tell,
And you must mind
The moral well;
’T will teach you a bright lesson, child,
From garden flowers, and blossoms wild.”
Not far from the borders of a dark wood, was a bright and cheerful-looking garden. Flowers were there, of every hue and form, growing and rejoicing beneath the beams of the summer’s sun.
“Ah, how happy we are!” said the marigold to the larkspur.
“Here we bloom and soar upward almost to the very sun,” said a family of sun-flowers.
“Yes, and climb as high as the sky,” cried a convolvolus and jasmine, who had wound themselves round a tall princess-feather.
“How brilliant and stately we are,” said the proud dahlia. “We are admired far more than those pale flowers that grow in yonder wood.”
“I pity the poor faded things,” whispered a bright coreopsis.
“I look down upon them,” said a fierce tiger-lily.
“The sun loves the garden flowers best,” said a pansy of great beauty, to some sweet mignionette; “let us be glad that our home is in this bright place.”
“I will ring a peal for very happiness,” replied a gay Canterbury bell; “for how could we exist in the gloom of that forest?”
“Let us be merry and glad that we are not wood flowers,” shouted they all, with a musical laugh that rung through the wood and made the wild-flowers, wonder.
A bright golden-rod, that grew on the edge of the forest, with his friend the aster, heard this conversation, and felt the injustice of it. Gracefully bowing his yellow plumes, he exclaimed, “Indeed, you do not know us; our life is the happiest in the world. In the deep woods, sheltered from the storm and heat, by the towering trees that soar above us like guardian angels, we live in peace and beauty. The sun does not always bathe us in a flood of light as he does the garden flowers, but he darts his beams through green boughs, and they come to us in tenfold beauty, scattered in a golden shower; and in the still night, the stars look down between the tops of the tall trees, and gaze silently and lovingly upon us.”
The wood flowers heard the silvery tones of the golden-rod with glee, as he recounted their blessed sources of delight.
“We have music too,” said he, “such as never floats through garden airs. We listen to the wind, as it sighs through the pines, and waves the bowery branches of the oak and maple; for each tree is a separate harp, that gives forth its own sweet melodies.”
Then all the flowers that grew by the brook said, “Hear the music of the waters, as they dash along over the rocks, and look on them as they reflect the sunlight upon us, and make us bright and beautiful.”
And the little mosses called out from the shades, “O let us always grow in the greenwood, and live in its shadows, and delight in its sweet voices.”
Then the ferns waved joyfully, and the clematis clung round the elder in a close embrace; and they blessed themselves that they lived amid the lights and shades of the forest.
Then spoke the “lilies of the field” to the little blue-eyed grass, that was looking up into the sky: “How merry are we in the meadows, where grows all that is greenest and freshest. Happiness pervades and fills the universe. It is above us with the birds and the clouds, around us with every flower and green leaf and blade of grass. Let man take a lesson from our kingdom and be wise; for all here are happiest in the place allotted to them by their Creator.”
The following contains a very beautiful thought, and it is expressed with a simplicity that reminds us of Dr. Watts’ songs for children.
GOOD NIGHT, LITTLE STAR.
Good night, little star;
I will go to my bed,
And leave you to burn,
While I lay down my head
On my pillow to sleep,
Till the morning light;
Then you will be fading,
And I shall be bright.
We make one more quotation, and take leave of this little book, recommending it to all our young readers, who will find it at all the bookstores.
WHAT IS IT MAKES ME HAPPIEST?
What is it makes me happiest?
Is it my last new play?
Is it my bounding ball, or hoop
I follow every day?
Is it my puzzles or my blocks?
My pleasant solitaire?
My dolls, my kitten, or my books,
My flowers fresh and fair?
What is it makes me happiest?
It is not one of these;
Yet they are treasures dear to me,
And never fail to please.
O, it is looks and tones of love,
From those I love the best,
That follow me when I do right;
These make me happiest!
