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of those moral perfections and holy laws, by which He governs the universe He has made. But even our low earth, by its very irregularities, may teach us another lesson, scarcely less important. Its seas and continents, its mountains and islands, strangely and confusedly mingled together, may remind us of that Divine freedom of choice, which is one main perfection of the Most High. His plans of mercy, amidst all their holy wisdom, shroud themselves ever in a veil of deep mystery. No abstract reasonings of the highest and noblest created intellect, will ever be able to reduce them to a formula of cause and effect, or to substitute a chain of moral laws, however wise or perfect, for the will of the Supreme Law-giver. He doeth according to his will among the armies of heaven and the inhabiters of the earth; and none can stay his hand, or say unto Him-What doest thou? The heavens, in their stedfast laws, are an emblem of the necessary perfection of His nature, who cannot lie, nor be tempted with evil; but the earth, in its variegated surface, is equally a memorial of His perfect freedom, whose will is a perfect law to itself, and who orders all things, in heaven and earth, according to His own secret pleasure—a will, guided always by infinite goodness and wisdom, but also the will of a supreme and sovereign king.

T. R. B.

THE SPIRIT OF NATURE.-No. IV.

'Soft roll your fragrance, herbs, and fruits, and flowers,
In mingled clouds of incense unto Him,

Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints.'
Thomson's Hymn of the Seasons.

the verge

of the grave;

AN heir of immortality lay upon earth, and its sights and sounds, seemed to have faded from his perceptions, while exhausted nature passively awaited the moment of dissolution. The sufferer had loved the floral world, and one of his friends, scarcely hoping that consciousness remained, placed a magnificent bouquet of fresh flowers on his couch. The dying pilgrim inhaled their fragrance, enjoyed their brilliant hues, and raising his eyes to heaven, with his latest breath, murmured 'silent hymns.'

Herbs

Flowers are indeed 'silent hymns,' visible harmonics, bearing witness to the Creator's love to man. and trees were necessary for the physical comforts and sustenance of man, but not so flowers; all the constituents of health and animal life were complete without them. But the Supreme was not content with supplying the wants of man: He wished to supply also mental pleasures: He wished not merely to form a useful world, but a beautiful world; therefore, from the lofty mountains to the shady glens, He shook a shower of variegated and fragrant loveliness over the earth.

'Oh, Father, Lord,

The All-beneficent, we bless thy name

That thou hast mantled the green earth with flowers,
Linking our hearts to nature.'

The household word 'garden' has been consecrated by hallowed associations with some of the most important events of creation and redemption. The first thoughts of the first human being were gladdened by floral beauty. When he awoke to the consciousness of existence, rejoicing in the lustre of the new-born world, he found himself in a garden, surrounded by all the luxuriant verdure of oriental vegetation, trees dropping perfumes and gums, flowers glowing in the rich hues of an Asiatic climate.

'As if the rainbows of the fresh wild spring

Had blossomed where they fell.'

The tempter appeared even in Paradise, and expulsion from that favoured region was the first and immediate punishment consequent on the fall.

We pass over an interval of four thousand years. In the valley of Jehoshaphat, which often resounded to the harp of David, there lies another oriental garden. The shadows of evening have long since closed upon the dark olive-trees and feathery palms, the white marble temple no longer gleams above the cypress-tops, the mountains which stand round Jerusalem are wrapped in the veil of night. The calm silence of the hour is only broken by the soft-flowing stream of Kedron; the still air is heavy with the perfume of citron-flowers and pomegranates; nature seems hushed to repose: yet there, even in that peaceful retreat, the extremity of agony which can oppress humanity is even now convulsing a human frame. A man kneels among the flowers, wrestling with such agonizing sufferings, that drops of blood course each other down his pale counte

nance.

Amid the silence of night his prayer is heard, “Fa

ther, if it be thy will, let this cup pass from me; yet not my will, but thine be done!"

The suppliant arises, and seeks the society of his dearest earthly friends; they sympathize not in his sorrows; they are unconscious of the agitating thoughts which rend his heart; under the dark olive-trees, they are buried in repose.

It is the third time that he has sought their sympathy, and sought it in vain. The sufferings of an entire world are curdled in that hour of agony, but he endured it alone.

Oh, ye children of clay, who may be faint under the hand of affliction, remember the garden of Gethsemane, remember the midnight agonies which crushed forth the blood of the Redeemer. He suffered thus for your sakes, will ye not bear chastisement for his sake? He went down to the depths of grief; shall he not sympathize, with all the feeling of experience, in your griefs? and the Almighty Father, who looked down from on high, permitting his beloved and only Son to endure unto the end; surely He who gave his beloved up to torture, will not deny any lesser gifts without some all-sufficient reason.

But the midnight sufferings of the Man of Sorrow have not yet reached their climax. The flowing chimes of Kedron are lost in the tramp of the sandalled multitude. Torches and lanterns gleam among the cypresses and tombs. The multitude pass over the little brook, and the garden is filled with a motley crowd of soldiers, priests, and servants. The calm retreat of prayer is invaded by treachery and violence; the victim is led away to death.

We pass over the events of a few short days. Again another Jewish garden, luxuriant in all the floral trea

sures which a rich man can assemble under the bright skies of Palestine. The first beams of the morning sun have scarcely lighted the transparent petals of the lilies, or kindled the rich colouring of the roses of Sharon; yet the clang of arms is heard; a guard of soldiers have passed the night in the garden. A resplendent angel descends from heaven, the astonished soldiers fall prostrate with fear, the Almighty Saviour issues from the grave, the conqueror of death, the immortal King, his glorified humanity already invested in Omnipotence.

Christian mourners, visit in imagination the garden of the resurrection, go forth with the holy women to meet the risen Saviour, behold the grave turned into the portal of heaven, rejoice in the glory of immortality, rejoice and sing, "O Death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is now thy victory ?"

Even thus have garden memories been consecrated by the gladness of creation, the agonies of redemption, the triumph of the resurrection.

In the gracefully imaginative theories of poetical minds, many flowers individually emblematize the same blessed themes. The pale, starry, dreamy-looking,' passion-flower

'Its faint, wan petals, colourless, and yet

Not white but shadowy, with the mystic lines
Into their vapour-like transparence wrought,
Bears something of a strange solemnity,
Awfully lovely, and the Christian's thought,
Loves, in their cloudy pencilling, to find

Dread symbols of his Lord's last mortal pangs,

Set by God's hand, the coronal of thorns,

The cross, the wounds, with other meanings deep.'

There is somewhat a similar legend connected with the Arum leaf: its dark brown stains

the villager will tell thee Are the flower's portion of the atoning blood I

AUGUST, 1847.

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