"Oh, that men and women surrounded by loveliness could see as the
angels do!--strong natures, hardened by years of sin, whose stony
hearts are melted at sight of the flowers, and weep (as only such
can) when the deep hidden springs are touched, and memory recalls
days of childhood's innocence, long, long past; lessons in that
village Sabbath-school of the holy God; the story of the Son of His
love dying in die stead of guilty sinners, to raise them to the
bright, pure land above, where is no sin, no curse, no sorrow, but
cloudless day and endless rest and joy; and the spotless flowers seem
to beckon them onwards and upwards, to seek and find the way thither;
for are not the flowers one of the first links in that chain of love
which draws the poor, wearied, sinful heart up to God and heaven?
"Ah! and would to God the country folk might hear! ay, and that the
sounds could penetrate into the halls and castles of our land; the
silent cry of hospitals with several hundreds of patients, and but
rarely a flower?
"'I should _so_ like a little buttercup.'
"And the weary murmur of gladness that steals through the wards when
a chance bouquet is brought in; and the heartfelt blessings from many
dying lips on the flower-gatherers.
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