Fading Flowers

“The Jloiucrs ivliich grow in garden wither in our hands while we smell at They are as frail as they are fair. They grow out of the dust, and to the dust must they return. As Herbert says,

“Their root is ever in their grave,
And they must die.”

How speedy is their withering, they are gathered by the hand, and laid before us, and they wilt and become sickly, fainting, decaying objects. At the very longest, their lives smile through a day or two, and all is over.

Which of earth’s joys is better than her flowers? Health flies, wealth takes to itself wings, honour is a puff of air, and pleasure is abubble. Only from heaven can we expect “pleasure for evermore,” and “everlasting joy.” The Rose of Sharon blooms through all the ages, and the Lily of the Valley, which is Jesus himself, outlasts all time, — yea, this is the only Everlasting Flower, for he only hath immortality. Why, then, should we seek for the living among the dead, or search for substance in the land of shadows? Henceforth, my soul, gather thy Hearts-ease in the garden of the Lord, pluck thy Forget-menots from beds which Christ has planted, and look for thy Crown-Imperial only in the Paradise above.

The flowers of the field are children’s adornments. See how the little ones garland themselves, and fashion chaplets with the buttercups and daisies. Earth’s loveliest joys are good child’s play; but, my soul, thou hast to act a nobler part: seek thou the bliss which fadeth not away. Turn thou to God, thine exceeding joy, and then if thy years be multiplied upon earth thou shalt have a life-long possession, or if thou be caught away suddenly thou shalt carry with thee in thy bosom the rosebud of a life which will open to perfection in the land where fading and withering are things unknown.