4. "Nothing! nothing!" the Watcher cried— "No cloud, no sign of rain!" The Prophet, laboring in prayer, Bowed 'twixt his knees again. And thus twice, thrice, seven times they strive, 5. "Oh can it be the God whose breath The wood, stones, water, all ablaze 6. "Oh can it be this God whose wrath Our prostrate souls approve, So burning in his holiness, Is not a God of love? Oh Heaven! for thy dear Mercy's sake, Dissolve this spell of burning wrath! Oh melt these brazen skies!" 7. Seven times the two souls watched and prayed, Seven times with faith and hope, When from the sea a little cloud Pushes its finger up! A hand! A hand! A cloud-formed hand! The hand God's chosen find Always revealed to point before When God is close behind! 8. And swelling in proportions vast Reveals an awful form; God coming in his majesty, God in the blessed storm; Blackening the heavens with clouds and wind, Pouring the welcome rain; Filling the thirsty earth with floods 9. Oh watchers on the mountain height, Of loving hearts and praying hands— 10. A finger, hand, an arm, a form Of power and grace divine ! The heavens shall swell with blessed showers, Oh dare with loving hearts to bring The sacrifice of blood! While Hope stands watching on the mount And Faith lays hold on God! XXXIII.-A FLOWER FOR THE WINDOW. LEIGH HUNT. 1. Why does not every one who can afford it have a geranium in his window, or some other flower? It is very cheap; its cheapness is next to nothing, if you raise it from seed or from a slip; and it is a beauty and a companion. It sweetens the air, rejoices the eye, links you with nature and innocence, and is something to love. And if it can not love you in return, it can not hate you; it can not utter a hateful thing even for your neglecting it; for, though it is all beauty, it has no vanity; and such being the case, and living as it does purely to do you good and afford pleasure, how will you be able to neglect it? 2. But, pray, if you choose a geranium, or possess but a few of them, let us persuade you to choose the scarlet kind, the "old original " geranium, and not a variety of it,-not one of the numerous diversities of red and white, blue and white, or ivy-leaved. Those are all beautiful, and very fit to vary a large collection; but to prefer them to the originals. of the race is to run the hazard of preferring the curious to the beautiful, and costliness to sound taste. 3. It may be taken as a good general rule, that the most popular plants are the best; for otherwise they would not have become such. And what the painters call “pure colors are preferable to mixed ones, for reasons which Nature herself has given when she painted the sky of one color, and the fields of another, and divided the rainbow itself into a few distinct colors, and made the red rose the queen of flowers. 4. Variations in flowers are like variations in music, often beautiful as such, but almost always inferior to the theme on which they are founded-the original air. And the rule holds good in beds of flowers, if they be not very large, or in any other small assemblage of them. Nay, the largest bed will look well, if of one beautiful color, while the most beautiful varieties may be inharmoniously mixed up. Contrast is a good thing, but we must observe the laws of harmonious contrast, and unless we have space enough to secure these, it is better to be content with unity and simplicity, which are always to be had. 5. We do not, in general, love and honor any one single color enough, and we are instinctively struck with a conviction to this effect, when we see it abundantly set forth. The other day we saw a little garden-wall completely covered with nasturtiums, and felt how much more beautiful they were than if any thing had been mixed with them; for the leaves and the light and shade offer variety enough. The rest is all richness and simplicity united, which is the triumph of an intense perception. Embower a cottage thickly and completely with nothing but roses, and nobody would desire the interference of another plant. 6. Every thing is handsome about the geranium, not ex cepting its name; which can not be said of all flowers, though we get to love ugly words when associated with pleasing ideas. The word "geranium" is soft and pleasant; the meaning is poor, for it comes from a Greek word which signifies a crane, the fruit having the form of a crane's head or bill. Cranesbill is the English name for geranium, though the learned appellation has superseded the vernacular. But what a reason for naming a flower! as if the fruit were any thing in comparison, or any one cared about it. Such distinctions, it is true, are useful to botanists; but as a plenty of learned names are sure to be reserved for the freemasonry of the science, it would be well for the world at large to invent joyous and beautiful names for these images of joy and beauty. In some instances we have them; such as heartsease, honeysuckle, marigold, mignonette (little darling), daisy (day's eye). And many flowers are so lovely, and have associated names, otherwise unmeaning, so pleasantly with one's memory, that no new ones would sound so well, or seem even to have such proper significations. 7. In pronouncing the words lilies, roses, tulips, pinks, jonquils, we see the things themselves, and seem to taste all their beauty and sweetness. Pink is a harsh, petty word in itself, and yet assuredly it does not seem so; for in the word we have the flower. It would be difficult to persuade ourselves that the word rose is not very beautiful. Pea is a poor, Chinese-like monosyllable; and brier is rough and fierce, as it ought to be; but when we think of sweet-pea and sweetbrier, the words appear quite worthy of their epithets. The poor monosyllable becomes rich in sweetness and appropriation; the rough dissyllable, also; and the sweeter for its contrast. 8. The names of flowers, in general, among the polite, are neither pretty in themselves, nor give us information. The country people are apt to do them more justice. Goldylocks, ladies'-fingers, rose-a-ruby, shepherd's-clock, shepherd's-purse, sauce-alone, scarlet-runners, sops-in-wine, sweetwilliam, and many other names, give us some ideas, either useful or pleasant. But from the peasantry come many uncongenial names, as bad as those of the botanist. It is a pity that all fruits and flowers, and animals too, except those with good names, could not be passed in review before somebody with a genius for christening, as the creatures were be fore Adam in paradise, and so have new names given them, worthy of their creation. 9. Suppose flowers themselves were new! Suppose they had just come into the world, a sweet reward for some new goodness, and that we had not yet seen them quite developed ; that they were in the act of growing; had just issued, with their green stalks, out of the ground, and engaged the attention of the curious. Imagine what we should feel on seeing the first lateral stem bearing off from the main one, or putting forth a leaf. How we should watch the leaf gradually unfolding its little graceful hand; then another, then another; then the main stalk rising and producing more; then one of them giving indications of astonishing novelty-a bud! then this mysterious bud gradually unfolding like the leaf, amazing us, enchanting us, almost alarming us with delight, as if we knew not what enchantment were to ensue, till at length, in all its fairy beauty, and odorous voluptuousness, and mysterious elaboration of tender and living sculpture, shone forth "The bright, consummate flower!" 10. Yet this phenomenon, to a person of any thought and lovingness, is what may be said to take place every day; for the commonest objects are wonders at which habit has made us cease to wonder, and the marvelousness of which we may renew at pleasure, by taking thought. XXXIV.-NOTHING IS LOST IN NATURE. GAIL HAMILTON. 1. Kindness to animals is, like every other good thing, its own reward. It is homage to Nature, and Nature takes you into the circle of her sympathies and refreshes you with balsam and opiate. We, too, delight in green meadows and blue sky. Resting with our pets on the southern slope, the heavens lean tenderly over us, and star-flowers whisper to us the brown earth's secrets. Ever wonderful and beautiful is it to see the frozen, dingy sod springing into slender grass-` blades, purple violets, and snow-white daisies. |