Parables from Flowers Part 7

'How did you manage?' questioned others who knew.

'What sort of a place is it?' inquired several.

Poor little bird! he was obliged to confess his failure, which he did with reluctance; yet still he bore his disappointment so cheerfully and bravely, they could not help sympathizing with him, promising to help in the good work next time. Even the Sparrow who had jeered somewhat at him was really sorry, and consoled him so kindly, that he went to sleep with his head tucked under his wing, in a far happier frame of mind than he could have supposed possible, after such a grievous sorrow.

And the seed?

As it was being jostled on the top of the packing-case, it thought to itself:

'There's an end to me, I suppose. I shall be shrivelled up to nothing for want of nourishing earth, and shall do good to no one. What a pity that dear little Sparrow's kind intention was frustrated by that meddlesome and inquisitive bird! I am sure I would have done my duty to the utmost, and realized his wish by growing as fast as possible, and looking cheerful and gay when in flower. Well, well, it is no use being unhappy; I must only wait patiently, hoping that a chance of doing good may occur. Who knows what may happen?'

And at that very moment, the truck the man was wheeling gave a lurch, and in consequence the tiny seed rolled along until it slipped down a crevice in the lid, and found a comfortable resting-place inside amongst some soft hay with which the case was packed.

'This is cosy,' it remarked, nestling in the warmth; 'perhaps after all I am reserved for some good purpose. I had become desponding, but there is always a brightness behind the darkest cloud.'

So it cuddled down contentedly, not knowing or heeding whither it was taken, only resting satisfied with the reflection that whatever happened was for the best. And so the packing-case was put on board one of the great ships in the docks, and in a few days away sailed the ship, packing-case, and little seed, far over the ocean, leaving England many thousand miles behind.

Not having been to Australia, we cannot describe what the little seed next beheld. But when the sun once again shone upon it, it was in a very different country to this dear land of ours.

The case had been emptied of its contents, and the hay and straw with which it had been packed was thrown aside upon the ground, and there lay the seed, so tiny that it was quite unheeded, indeed it is to be doubted whether it was even seen; but the loving G.o.d, who has created nothing in vain, had still a use for the small grain. A soft wind came and carried it to some moist earth, into which it sank, thankful for the rest and quiet after the past turmoil.

But its work was not finished.

By and by came up a little slender green shoot, then a leaf or two, and after a while, in due season, some pretty bell-shaped flowers, almost white, with just a tinge of delicate purple, made their appearance, and there they swayed in the breeze--English Wood Anemones in a distant land.

And in this distant land a young English girl had her home; and bright and beautiful it was, with huge trees and gorgeous flowers, unheard of and unseen in the country village from which she had come. But, bright and beautiful as her new home was, she often sighed for the green hedgerows and sweet wayside flowers of dear old England; not that she murmured because G.o.d had sent her thither, only the love of her old home and old home memories yet lingered in her heart.

Think, then, what her joy was, when, one day as she wandered alone, gazing on gorgeous blossoms rich in brilliant colours, down at her feet she spied, waving its delicate-tinted elf-bells in the warm, soft breeze, the Wood Anemone.

Could it be possible? That well-known English flower blooming there! How could it have come across the ocean?

Ah, how often had she seen it at home--for England is ever home to those who are far away--seen it in the early spring days cl.u.s.tering thickly in the woods and copse, heralding the cuckoo, and bringing with it a promise of summer days to come.

'Dear, dear little flower!' she cried, kneeling down and kissing, in excess of joy, its delicate petals. 'Welcome a thousand times, for you bring with you memories from the old land. I will not gather your pretty flowers, nor take them away to myself, but will leave you here, so that others, perhaps more home-sick than I, will take heart, and be cheered by your soothing though silent message.'

And the young girl was right.

Others pa.s.sing by--some poor wanderers, footsore and weary--were cheered by the bonnie wild-flower, which, happy in giving happiness to others, swayed its tiny bells as it danced in utter gladness, whispering to the wild bees who also came to visit it,--

'I thought at one time, when the Sparrow let me fall, that there was no more use for me in the world, that my work was finished; but G.o.d had still a mission for me, and I have done what others equally small can do--given happiness, and cheered those who came across my path. It is not much to do,' it continued meekly, 'not great and glorious deeds at which the world stands amazed; but it was all I could do, and was the work He meant for me--we must not despise the day of small things. The acorn is very small, yet look at the oak. A gentle word, a bright smile, is not hard to bestow, but oh, the blessing they can be to hearts pining perhaps for kindness!'

So the Sparrow's good intention was carried out after all.

PARABLE SIXTH.

THE CROWN IMPERIAL--HOPE.

Have you ever seen a Crown Imperial, that lovely flower which comes in the early spring-time, just after the Snowdrops have gone? You will not find it in _new_ gardens, I fear; but in those delightful shady nooks and corners where the old-fashioned flowers seem to come and go just as they please, there it is to be found, coming up year after year in all its beauty, and yet, though so lovely, meekly drooping its velvet petals, upon which tear-drops are ever resting.

It has been said that it droops thus in humiliation, because its pride was once rebuked; but I do not think that aught so lovely could be unduly proud! Even the acknowledged queen of the garden, the stately Rose, is gentle in her beauty; and 'Consider the lilies,' though 'Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed' like them, yet how meekly they bloom beneath our feet!

Then shall the Crown Imperial tell its tale to you, and see what lesson we can learn from it? No, an old yew tree shall relate the story. Listen to what it says:--

'Many, many years have I stood on this spot, from the time that I was a tiny sapling until now, when my branches spread far and wide, covering the earth beneath with shadow. Summer sunshine has touched with its fiercely scorching breath, and winter snows have shrouded me in fleecy garments, but the old yew tree has weathered so far the storms of life, growing year by year more twisted and gnarled as time pa.s.sed on. I have seen the song-birds come and depart; some have even built their nests within my leafy branches. I have watched sweet flowers blossom, then fade, but among the many lovely flowerets I have loved--for the old dry tree has a tender heart, my children--there was one whose very gentleness made me love it even yet more dearly. It was a Crown Imperial.

'The spring was commencing to gladden the earth when first I perceived it, forcing its way timidly through the soft gra.s.sy lawn of an old, old garden. Who had placed the parent bulb beneath that turf was never known, for the owners of the estate had pa.s.sed with their generation from the land, and strangers had come to reside in the ancient homestead, but there was this fragile plant, outliving, as it were, those who had planted it, and coming up, year after year, to gladden other eyes than those which had first beheld its beauty--like good actions and gentle words--imperishable!

'So day by day I watched it grow, stronger and stronger, higher and higher, and, as it grew, spreading gradually its beautiful, shining leaves; but when it had reached its full height, behold, it was crowned with a diadem of the softest green--an emerald crown worthy the brow of a queen!

'Then by degrees I saw its blossoms begin to unfold, the velvet petals richer far than the feeble looms of man can weave; but, as they unclosed, to my intense surprise, they were not uplifted to the sunshine and blue sky, but meekly bowed--drooping earthward.

'"They will gaze upward by and by," I said to myself, "and, when they know and feel the power of their beauty, will court the admiration they are sure to win."

'But I was wrong.

'Pride had no place within their lowly hearts--never were their flowers lifted up--their glances were ever bent in sweet humility towards the green sod from which they had sprung, and, as I gazed upon them, I saw that on each lovely petal there ever rested a tear.

'"Why this sadness?" I mused. "Surely so lovely and guileless a flower can know no sorrow, since sorrow often goes hand in hand with sin; this Crown Imperial must surely be as faultless as it is beautiful!"

'Yet I hesitated to ask the reason; there was a gentle and reserved timidity about it, that checked all questionings. The cause of this unspoken grief would be revealed to me sooner or later, I felt convinced.

'The days pa.s.sed on with sunshine and shadows, and, as the hours fled, I saw with regret that stern Time had relentlessly breathed with his withering breath upon my much-loved flower! Gradually and slowly its blossoms pined, the lovely colours faded,--almost imperceptibly, 'tis true, still they faded,--its fresh green crown became less purely bright, and I knew with anguish my sweet one was dying.

'Then, and not till then, did it raise its faint eyes heavenward--they were tearless now. I could restrain my wonder no more.

'"Why, oh, why wert thou weeping and gazing ever earthward when in thy peerless beauty, sad and disconsolate--and now that thou art fading from us thou art happy?" I asked in my sorrowful regret; perhaps reproach was mingled with my complaint.

'"Is it not ever so?" the gentle flower replied. "Whilst burdened with Life's sorrows, our eyes are tear-dimmed. The cares of this world press heavily upon our hearts, so that we scarce can lift our thoughts from this earth--cold and weary though it is--to gaze upward. It is only when we are pa.s.sing from all shadows into the Divine Light that we can look heavenward, yet even then the tear-drops linger. But when earthly sojourners have pa.s.sed through the dark valley into the Eternal Brightness, then, and only then, will they be freed from anguish; then, and only then, will eyes be no longer dimmed by sorrow--for G.o.d Himself shall wipe away all tears!"'

PARABLE SEVENTH.

THE TWO LEAVES--DISCONTENT.

Once upon a time, as the good old fairy tales always begin, there grew by the side of a little brook a large Oak tree.

The brook was a bright, sunlit stream, gliding along so cheerfully to join the river, between gra.s.sy banks, kissing the willows which bent down towards it, or whispering softly to the blue Forget-me-nots; and so clear was it, you could see the smooth pebbles lying at the bottom, and the fish skimming along gaily, as if there were no such things in the whole world as fishing-rods.

All through the day it rippled merrily, catching every ray of sunlight that flickered through the trees or the blue sky above; but if an angry black cloud ever chanced to see itself reflected in its clear mirror, it scudded away as if ashamed of looking so dark.