Iowa capitol reporter. [volume] (Iowa City, Iowa) 1841-1855, 1848-07-19
From the Western Literary Messenger
The Mission of Flowers.

From the Western Literary Messenger.
The Mission of Flowers.
True Beauty points to heavenas its birth
place. Being an attribute of Deity him
self, it accompanies every manifestation,
and is visible in all nature around US
Upon the soul which is not lost to all APP
probation Of the pure and holy, it exerts
refining and hallowed influence. 1t is
as faithful in its mission as the star which
led the wise to the glory crowned manager
of Bethlehem. Dim though it may be up
on our sin-beclouded vision, who can for
moment enter the world of the beauti-
full and not feel chastened and made bet
ter by it? Under its influence we Instant
ly lose sight Of the darker forms of earth,
its stern realities sink away, and we feel
ourselves less of earth and more of heaven.
o, it is glorious to cease for bright mo-
nent to be a prisoner of this sickly BODY,
and become as large and pure as nature.
An ardent love for the beautiful is
surely akin to worship, for in proportion
as we come to just appreciation of it do
we gain exalted views of its author who
has dispensed it SO literally. But how
few are the eyes unsealed to discover this
all-pervading element. Man gazes enrap-
tured at the mountains of art, but never
for once sees the greater skill and beauty
which is manifest in all the breathing
universe around him.
One of the purest forms of beauty in
nature is presented us in the flowers
They are her mildes: sweetest expressions.
They ''touch us like poetry" and talk to
the heart. They are eloquent instructors
Of morality. But like all blessings so
freely enjoyed they are lily appreciated.
Who would not shudder at the thought of
walking amidst all the MASTER pieces of
painting and sculpture and yet never be-
hold one Of them? How many there are
who never for once pause to observe these
emblems of the lovely and pure, which
spring up all along our pathway in life.
How much flowers resemble the young
heart, in its bright morning, ere It has
stained the plumage of its sinless years.
Tradition OF them tells us that they were
once like youth even in this-that they
loved, and talked, and had passion like
ours. Whether the golden age of flowers
has passed or not, they are still invested
with these susceptibilities in song: How
often, and fondly the poet revels in the
field OF flowers. Do they not talk to him?
Who has ever heard the soft, low whis-
pers of the green leaves and bright flow
ers on spring morning, who did not feel
rainbow CLEANS Of gladness running
through his heart? Like beauty in the
human form, flowers hint and foreshow
relations of transcendant delicacy, and
sweetness, and point to the beautiful and
unattainable. From the garden fayorite
to the dainty wild flower ofthe mountain.
all have charm inexpressible, a beauty
unapproachable, leading the way, and
wooing the spirit onward and upward
: How sweetly and instructively the flower
bows its head to the breath of night or the
rude storm. At morning it yields its fra
grant orison borne to heaven on the soft
wings of the dew-drop. Thus the heart
learns to bring holier offering to the
shrine of all good.
The ancients called beauty in the hui
man form the forering of virtue, and
flowers were wreathed around their ina
gined ElysiAn. They greet lif,'s dawn
with their smiles, and sweetly bloom over
the grave. In all ages great minds have
blessed them, and gracefully listened to
their instruction. Some one has asked
"why are external nature and man so sep.
arated?" Not from any necessity is il
thus. Man in his ripper age r:thlessly
tore himself from the kind mother of his
youth. Nature is ever the instructor o!
the soul. From her its first teaching arc
derived. She will never prove recrcant
to her trust. Let the soul, conscious oil
her continued favors, child like, love and
learn, and it has rich reward. 1t becomes
the favored child. lis eyes are unsealed
into SO close and endearing intimacy, anc
so happily begniles the hours of wear,
LIE that it almost forgets its own mortal.
ty.
But flowers die. That which bloomef
to tell US OF purity, beauty and heaven, il
the sweetness of its fading glory bears /,
yet higher and palmer lesson-a lesso,
not forgotten, and which this little monitor
must teach or it is untaught. We listen
for it is sweet, though mournful voic,
which bids us mark the bright emblem o
our own mortality.
The departure Of beauty-like III,
nightingale's death-song, touches sweet,
yet sadly, and reminds us how much wa
lost in our Eden-home. Under this in
fuence the sonl rises from earth in it
power, and looks, and longs for the lam
where flowers viii never fade.
MADIsox UsIvEas1TY.