The united opinion. [volume] (Bradford, Vt.) 1881-1970, 1899-04-07

All the cut flowers viii soon be dead.
whatever care you take or them
Though morning and night you bap-
tie them in the name Of the shower,
the baptism will not be to them saw
ing ordinance. They have been fatally
wounded with the knife that cut them.
They are bleeding their life away.
they are dying now. The fragrance In
the air is their departure and ascend
ing spirits. Oh. yes! Flowers are all
most human. Botanists tell us that
flowers breathe. they take nourish-
ment, they eat, they drink. They are
kensitive They have their likes ana
dislikes. They sleep, they wake. They
live in families. They have their an
cestors and their descendants. their
birth. their burial. their cradle. their
grave. The zephyr rocks the one, and
the storm digs the trench for the
other. The cowslip must leave Its
gold, the lily must leave its silver. the
rose must leave it's diamond necklace
of morning dew. Dust to dust. So We
come up, we prosper, we spread. we
die. as the fiower-as the flower!
Change and decay in all around l see;
o thou who changest not, abide with
me!
Flowers also afford mighty symbol
ism of Christ. who compared himself
to the ancient queen, the lily, and the
modern queen, the rose, when he said,
"I am the rose of Sharon. and the lily
of the valley" Redolent like the one.
humble like the other. Like both, ap-
propriate for the sad who want SYM
pathizers and for the rejoicing who
want banqueters. lowering over the
marriage ceremony like a wedding bell
or folded like a chalet on the pulseless
heart of the dead. o Christ, let the
perfume of thy name be waited all
around the earth-lily and rose, lily
and rose until the wilderness Grim
son into a garden and the round earth
turn into one great bud of immortal
beauty laid against the warm heart of
God. Snatch down from the worlds
banners eagle and lion and put on lily
and rose, lily and rose.
But, my friends flowers have no
grander use than when on Easter
morning we celebrate the termination
of Christ from the catacombs. The
flowers spell resurrection. There is
not a nook or corner in all the build
ing but is touched with the incense.
The women carried spices to the tomb
of Christ, and they dropped spices all
around about the tomb, and from these
spices have grown all the flowers Of
Easter morn. The two white robed
angels that hurled the stone away
from the door Of the tomb hurled it
with such violence down the hill that
it crushed in the door of the worlds
sepulcher and millions of dead shall
come forth.
However laybrinthine the mauso-
leum, however costly the sarcophagus,
however INTELLECTUALLY grand the
metropolis, however beautifully par
tered the family grounds, we want
them all broken up by the Lord of the
resurrection. The forms that We laid
away with our broken hearts must
rise again. Father and mother, they
must come out Husband and wife,
they must come out. Brothers and
sisters. they must come out. Our
darling children, they must come out.
The eyes that with trembling fingers
we closed must open in the luster of
resurrection morn. The arms that we
folded in death must join ours in en-
brace of reunion. The beloved voice
that was hushed must be returned. The
beloved form must come up without
its infirmities, without Its fatigues 1t
must come up. Oh, how long 1t seems
for some of you! Waiting, waiting for
resurrection! How long, how long! l
make for your broken hearts to-day a
cool, soft bandage of lilies, I comfort
you this day with the thought of resur-
rection.
When Lord Nelson was buried In
St. Pauls cathedral in London, the
heart of all England was stirred. The
procession passed on amid the sobbing
of a nation. There were thirty
trumpeters stationed at the door of the
cathedral, with instruments Of music
in hand waiting for the signal, and
when the illustrious dead arrived at
the gates of st. Paul's cathedral, these
thirty trumpeters gave one united
blast, and then all was silent. Yet the
trumpets did not wake the dead. He
slept right on. But I have to tell you,
what thirty trumpeters could not do
for one man, one trumpeter will do for
all nations The ages have rolled on.
and the clock of the worlds destiny
strikes nine, ten, eleven, twelve, and
time shall be no longer
Behold the archangel lowering! He
takes the trumpet, points 1t this way,
puts its lips to his lips and then blows
one long, loud, terrific, thunderous, re-
yerberating and resurrectienary blast!
Look, look! They rise! The dead
the dead! Some coming forth from
the family vault, some from the city
cemetery, some from the country
graveyard. Here spirit is Joined to
its body, a7d there another spirit is
Joined to enother body, and millions Of
departed spirits are asserting the bod
les. and then -eclothing themselves in
forms radiant for ascension.
The earth hegins to burn-the bon
aro ~ a orect victory. All ready now