MY FLOWER GARDEN.

Shannon News, 19 February 1924, Page 3

MY FLOWER GARDEN.

(Written for the “News” by “Rapotini.”)

In my garden I find flowers .that 1 admire ana others that 1 love. Those 1 love best are not the finest blooms in my garden, from a Horticulturist's view, and would not, perhaps bo ‘•highly commended” at a ilower snow. But tney nave a warmer place m my regard than nave some more regal blossoms.

j.heie are llowers that seem aloof. They are novvers m ineir intensively cultured beauty. We pay uumning tribute to their periecuon, we give them pride ’oi piuce. let, tuey are beautiiul acquaintances, nut inenus. But these are ouuiunnjeiea by otiiers that have such an intimate cnarm, a loveliness so appealing, uiat one i& apt to touen me sweet, petais wan a. caressing linger, and wiusper a loveworu—hull lorgetiul that tney are not sentient creatures. aiiougu it lias been suggested mat “me sleeps m plants, dreams in anhnais, and wakes m man.” * * * * *

The pleasure, which the true • gardener imds In the nurture of plants as they respond to iiis care by me unfolding of bud and blossom, is surely a joy that was spared to us in the wrecK of Edeni

Truly heart’s ease grows in the garden! For it often proves a sanctuary where, in happy toil we elude the pin pricks of life. Where jangled nerves find anodyne; and even trouble may loose some el its pain.

What an unhomelike thing is a house without a garden! How indiilerently. the waylarer’s glance passes over it to rest with pleasure on tlie pretty surrounding ol some iowiiei dwelling! But not always for the garden-lover do the lines lad in pleasant places, where a fertile soil and genial climate give the best results. His garden may suffer from the visitations oi rough coastal winds, or an undesirable soil may cause many disappointments. Yet he will love (ins garden, and as its delects ai’C patiently countered, I like to' think that in me new earth which “we look ipr” tue lirst order will be restored, unu love oi me beautiiul will never impel a sigh over abortive efforts, but will find its perfect • fulfilment. #*' * * *

Although this world Is but a small thing in the universe, tne thought that it may have been lushionea somewhat after the similitude of Heaven is not inadmissable. For though the face of o.ur earth has ben torn by earthquake, seamed and scarred by flood, and fire and tempest, it is a .beautiiul face still: and in Nature’s unspoiled wilds there is no place for that (hideous thing that so inevitably follows in the track of mankind—the thing we call—well, “matter in the wrong place.” It offends in a' thousand forms, and if vigilance is relaxed but for. one hour will even invade our homes; and the house-mother will sometimes think she is like tlhe proverbial woman, \vho in her dream tried to. stem the waves ol the sea with her mop. But Mother Nature’s domain is always fair! She moves over the earth like a gracious Spirit sent'forth to mitigate the doom that was pronounced in Eden. Order and beauty mark her footsteps, even amongst the thorns and thistles: and when humanity pays the last sad penalty, we commit our dead to earth’s bosom:

“That gentle nurse who spreads a ■ sheltering couch When pur brief task is -o’er.” It is little wonder that men, when blindly groping) after God, worshipped Him, in nature: “Great Nature, ever young, yet lull of eld; Still moving, yet unmoved from- her stead; Unseen of any, yet of all beheld.”

But there axe aspects of awful grandeur, revelations of stupendous larce before which we shrink, and breathe a prayer to he always delivered from “the wrath of the unchained elements.” I love Nature more in her htenefxcbrxcjpi, ijti sqenic beauty, in bountiful harvests of fruit and gram, in gentle showers of spring rains that call flowers from the brown earth, and when she heals, restores or compensates.

To winter storms is given the.'While beauty of snow 1 ; to frost a brilliancy of stars; to dying leaves is given autumnal tints, axxd they are recreated when spring rexiews “tne face of.the ground.” Of .vapour she builds u:ttuxtains of whiter cloud in the blue eibex, weaves fleecy cloudlets, or paints it with the glory of sunset.

j.u woodland ram,biers the lallen tree is a familiar tiling!, and sometimes a convenient resting place. Tne white hones of the forest giant look sadly bleak; but nature’s loom—-nevev idle—is forming a garment of graj >es moss.and lichen; tall fronds >1 b.when grow close bu either side; a clematis vine has crept about the hrokei: limbs, and wreaths them with masses of gleaming blossom—but I have wandered from* my flowers. Graceful, fragrant, lovely things are they! I love them! I like the thought of flowers in heayen;

“Rose, for the bridal gathered and the bier! Rose, telling now of human hope or pain! , Surely where death is not, nor change, nor fear, There may; we meet thee, joy’s own flower again.”

When the Creator scattered flowers oyer His handiwork, He also endowed us with the faculty to delight in all beauty; and from the little child, with the gathered wild flowers drooping in the little (hot hand, to the white haired pilgrim, the love of flowers is inherent. It is an attribute of the * soul; who can say it is not decreed to 1 survive the dissolution of mortality 4 and have a part in the life immortal! t :* * * » * * Felicia Herr.ia.ris tells of the ministry t . of flowers: x “Welcome, O pure and lovely forms, again

Unto the shadowy stillness of m - v

rooml . For not alone ye bring a joyous train Of summer thoughts attendant Vi sions^oMheshn ess, of rich bowery Of the Tow murmurs, filling mossy Of sfarfthat look down on your foldThough dewy leaves of many a wild Greethig U Se wanderer of the hUI and Like g sudden music; more than this ye Far more; ye whisper of the all-fos WhiJh ni thiis oV hath clothed you, and Broods fevered breath, , . 0 Whether his lingering couch be tnai of Ufe hi death.”