answered that she thought they must be beautiful trees with which the earth
is covered; for their brightly coloured leaves, especially in autumn, are
as gay as wreaths of flowers, with their many shades of red and brown, as
well as "various green."
The more we notice the trees and flowers, the more we wonder at their
loveliness; for God has "made everything beautiful in his time," whether
the rich trees of autumn or the tender green of the spring-time, when all
the earth seems young again.
Beautiful indeed this earth must have been; still so fair, even in its
ruins; when it came fresh from the hand of God, prepared by Him to be the
dwelling place of His creatures; but who can tell how fair it will be when
every trace of sin and its sad work shall be gone for ever, and the Lord
Jesus, the Prince of Peace, shall reign over it?
And although it is all done so quietly and secretly, and seems so natural
to us that we hardly give it a thought, even still more wonderful than
their beauty is the way in which these trees, yielding fruit after their
kind, "whose seed is in itself," go on constantly, not only living, but
producing other living plants, which increase and multiply, each in its
turn again producing more and more "after its kind."
Perhaps you save up your pennies, as I did long ago, until you have enough
to buy a packet of flowerseeds. As you unfold the packet, and see the
pictures of the flowers that are to be, on the little papers inside--the
scarlet poppy, the yellow marigold, the blue lupin, and the many-coloured
sweet peas--you almost feel as if you already saw these bright flowers
blooming in your garden. But open the little parcels one after the other,
and what do you find? Nothing bright or sweet or beautiful; only little
brown seeds, tiny as grains of March dust, or so light and feathery that
your breath would blow them away.
Do you then throw them into the fire, and say they are no good? Not so. You
take the greatest care of these little grains. You prepare the earth, and
make a soft bed for them, then cover them up, carefully marking the spot
with the name of the flower whose seed you have sown there. You water that
bare place, and wait to see green leaves push themselves up through the
dark soil; for well you know that within each tiny brown seed the flower
that is to be, lies hidden.
To see your seed grow, and your plant live and bloom, does not surprise you
at all. But how astonished you would be if, in the spot where you had sown
white candytuft, you were to find yellow tulips!
Such a thing can never be; for the mother-plant from which the seed came
must always produce plants of its own kind. You never saw a bean grow into
a cherry-tree, or a pink change into a rose, did you? God gives the seed a
body "as it hath pleased Him, and to every seed its own body."
It is true that what are called "varieties" can be produced among
cultivated plants, as among birds and animals, by change of food and
climate, and by care and training. The same plant will soon look very
different if taken from a dry, sunny spot, and placed in a damp, shady
corner. I have heard that if plants are moved from their home on the
seashore, and placed in a dry, hot place, their thick, fleshy leaves will
in time quite change their character, becoming thin and hairy. In the same
way a tree, if given room, will spread its branches wide, but will shoot
upwards if hemmed in on all sides. It is important, however, to remember
that man has never been able by his skill to produce a new kind of either
plant or animal. But we were speaking of your seeds, so tiny, yet so unlike
each other. These differences become much more apparent if the seeds are
looked at through a microscope, and the varieties in their way of growing
are endless.
You know where to look for the tiny seeds of the apple-tree; but may not
have noticed, that while they lie safely hidden inside the fruit, the
strawberry's yellow seeds are outside. Then some seeds, such as peas and
laburnums, grow in pods. Some, like the hips and haws, we must look for
between the stalk and the flower, or in the place where the flower has
been. You may have seen a hawthorn-tree in the spring all white with its
scented blossoms. If you pass by the same place months later, when spring
and summer are past, what a change! Where the sweet flowers had been, the
red berries, which the birds like so well, hang in clusters. This is what
has happened: the wind has blown away the soft blossoms; then the parts
beneath them which held the seeds grew larger and turned into berries; the
sun shone upon them and dyed them their brilliant red; and now they are
quite ripe, and ready for the birds' winter supply; or perhaps one here and
there may bury itself in the ground, and become a young hawthorn.
The power of life in the seed is a very wonderful thing. I have read of a
grave far away in Hanover upon which a very massive stone was laid, and
upon the stone were engraved the words, "This grave shall never be opened."
We know that the time will come when the seal of every tomb will be broken,
but even now it may be seen that those proud words were written in vain.
A seed which had fallen into the grave has grown into a tree, which has
actually raised and pushed aside the heavy stone to make room for itself
and force its way into the light and air.
I wonder if you ever thought of the fruits which you so much enjoy, as
seeds? Such they really are. Almonds and grapes and oranges, yes, and
the blackberries of the hedges, are either the seeds of plants or what
are called their seed-vessels, because they hold the seed. But fruits
like apples and pears have a double use; they were made not only to
serve as seed-holders, but God has given them to us for food. And those
horse-chestnuts you are so fond of gathering--next time you pick one up
just stop and think that in the round smooth nut, which you can hide in
your closed hand, lies the baby plant which may one day become a spreading
tree like those you have seen in the park. Can you believe that such a
mighty tree, with its branches and leaves and blossoms, is folded up in one
small horse-chestnut, such as that with which you were playing the other
day, whirling it round your head at the end of a string? The life of a
plant, could it be told, would be indeed a tale of wonder; and I should
like to try to tell you a little more about it, as well as something about
how flowers are made; but as we have had so long a chapter, we must end
with another story, the true story of what a flower, growing alone in a
yard, just springing up in its green sweetness between the flagstones,
taught a poor man who was as lonely as itself, and also very unhappy.
He was a Frenchman, and had been in prison a long time, because the Emperor
Napoleon considered him his enemy. One day while he was walking in the
prison-yard, pacing backwards and forwards, up and down the narrow space
which was allowed him, he noticed something green at his feet, and stooping
down to see what it could be, found that a busy little plant was bravely
pushing its way up between the crevices of the paving stones, to reach such
light and air as could be found in a prison-yard. "How could it have come
here?" the prisoner thought. A seed must have been dropped by some passing
bird, and "the scent of water" from some hidden spring must have caused it
to bud and to send down the slender fibres of its roots, with their little
sponges, to suck up all the moisture, so that the plant should grow, and
shoot up those fresh green leaves which had attracted his attention.
If the poor prisoner had been happy and busy, he perhaps would have thought
no more of the little plant; but he was very sad and lonely, and he could
not be busy as he had no books to read, and all the occupations which he
most cared for had been taken from him. So this living thing was to him
like a country in which he was constantly discovering some new wonder
and beauty. He loved to watch the lonely plant, which was, to his fancy,
a prisoner like himself; and when at last the buds unfolded, and the
flowers--such sweet flowers with such gay colours--bloomed, he was filled
with delight; he guarded his treasure with the most anxious care, for if
a hasty foot had trodden it down, he would have lost a friend which had
cheered for him many a sad hour.
But I have not yet told you what this prison-flower taught the lonely
prisoner. As day by day he watched the growth of that humble little plant,
God spoke to him. He had spent his life without thinking much about God,
and when he had thought about Him, he had been like that poor proud man of
whom God's word says that he is a "fool," although men may think him very
clever.
He had many times said in his heart, "There is no God;" and he used to try
to believe that there was no one greater or wiser than a man like himself,
and that all that he saw in the world--the mountains, and sea, and all the
wonderful works of God--came of themselves; or, as he said, "by chance." He
had even written these words upon the wall of his cell, "All things come by
chance."
But it was not by chance that he was allowed to see something of the work
of God in one little flower. As day by day he watched the leaves grow, the
buds unfold, and then the blossoms open in all their fragrance, he knew
that God alone could work the miracle of life and growth which was going on
before his eyes. His proud, scornful heart was bowed in the presence of a
power at which he could but wonder, for it was past all his understanding,
and he humbly owned that God had taught him by his pet plant lessons which
the wisest men in the world could not have taught.
It was by means of the flower, too, that at last the prison doors were
opened, and a message came to tell him that Napoleon had given him leave to
go home.
It would take too long to tell this part of the story, but you will not be
surprised to hear that, like the African traveller, he could not bear to
part with his cherished flower. He carefully dug it out from between the
stones, carried it home with him, and never forgot the simple but great
lesson which he had learned while in prison.
We have been able to say very little about the "green earth," and the
wonders of the work of God on the THIRD DAY of Creation, but perhaps you
will understand something of what a student of nature meant when he wrote,
"The earth may be looked at as a vast seed-plot of life, seen from the
point of view of the Great Sower."
I think you will like these verses which were repeated to me by an old
friend who remembered having learnt them from his mother's lips, long ago.
They seem just fit to close our chapter about the earth in its verdure and
beauty.
"All the world's a garden,
God hath made it fair;
Living trees and flowers
He hath planted there.
Rain and sunshine giving,
All His goodness prove;
There is nothing living
But has felt His love.
"Every home's a garden,
Clustering side by side,
Each to others yielding,
Flow'rets should abide.
Word or thought of anger
Ne'er should enter there;
Buds of loving kindness
Opening everywhere.
"Every school's a garden,
Hedged and fenced around;
Nothing vile or useless
Should within, be found.
Teachers are the gardeners,
Sowing precious seed,
Training up the tender plants,
Plucking every weed.
"Every heart's a garden;
It should bring forth fruit;
But foul weeds and briars
In its soil have root.
Envy, wrath, and hatred,
Malice, strife, and pride,
Lies and disobedience,
And many more beside.
"Cast them out, I pray, Lord,
And supply in place
Gentleness and goodness,
Lovely plants and grace;
Patience and longsuffering,
Faith and hope and love--
These will bear transplanting
To the world above."
THE FOURTH DAY.
SUN, MOON, AND STARS.
"_When I consider Thy heavens, the work of Thy fingers, the moon and the
stars, which Thou hast ordained: what is man, that Thou art mindful of him?
and the son of man, that Thou visitest him?_"--PSALM viii. 3, 4.
"_The day is Thine, the night also is Thine: Thou hast prepared the light
and the sun.... Thou hast made summer and winter._"--PSALM lxxiv. 16, 17.
"_Truly the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to
behold the sun._"--ECCLESIASTES xi. 7.
"_One star differeth from another star in glory._"--1 CORIN. xv. 41.
When we had got as far in our reading of the first chapter of Genesis as
the fourteenth verse, we noticed that it is very like the third; for both
verses begin with those wonderful words which none but God could say--"Let
there be."
But there is a great difference between the "light" of the third verse and
the "lights" of verses fourteen and sixteen. The sun is called "the greater
light," and the moon, which is so very much smaller, "the lesser light";
but in the language in which this part of the Bible was first written,
these two lamps which give us light are called by a name which means, not
the light itself, but that which holds it; not, as we might say, the candle
which gives light as it burns but the candlestick in which it is set.
Let us read again carefully what God has told us about His work on the
FOURTH DAY, and I think we shall see, as we noticed in the chapter on
"Light," that we are not told that it was upon that Day that the sun and
moon were _created_.
"And God said, Let there be lights in the firmament of the heaven to divide
the day from the night; and let them be for signs, and for seasons, and for
days, and years. And let them be for lights in the firmament of the heaven,
to give light upon the earth: and it was so. And God made two great lights;
the greater light to rule the day, and the lesser light to rule the night:
He made the stars also."
You remember that in the whole of this chapter which speaks of God's work
in creation, the word "created" is used only on three occasions, though in
the verse which tells of the creation of man, it is three times repeated
(verse 27). And now I want you to turn to the hundred and fourth Psalm, and
notice the verses which speak of the Days of Creation: you will see that
light is spoken of in the second verse, and in the nineteenth we read--
"He appointed the moon for seasons: the sun knoweth his going down."
Those who know the Hebrew language tell us that the word "appointed" in
this verse is the very same as that which has been translated "made" in the
sixteenth verse of the first chapter of Genesis--so that we may read, "God
appointed two great lights," just as in the eighth Psalm we read, "The moon
and the stars, which Thou hast ordained."
We have seen that God could give light without the sun or moon;--an old
writer quaintly says that before the sun was made "the whole heaven was
our sun"--but He was pleased upon this Day of His creation to command the
light, which He had called out of the darkness, to gather round the sun,
so that he might, as the great light-bearer in all his splendour "rule the
day"; and to cause light from that glorious sun to fall upon the moon, so
that she, with her silvery shining, might "rule the night"--both sun and
moon thus giving "light upon the earth."
May is fond of repeating a verse, which I daresay you know, about a little
girl who, when it was too dark for her to see any more, folded up her work
and put away her playthings with a "good-night, good-night" to them; for
the time for working and playing had come to an end. "But," the verse goes
on--
"She did not say to the sun 'good-night,'
Though she saw him set like a ball of light;
For she knew he had God's time to keep
All over the world, while others sleep."
Yes; this wonderful "ball of light"--so bright that the brightest light
we know of looks dull when held up before its dazzling face--is ever,
night and day, sending out rays of light and heat, like streams from an
overflowing fountain, always making daylight somewhere. When you lie down
in your bed, and settle yourself to sleep sound till morning, your little
cousins in Australia and New Zealand are just beginning to sit up in
theirs, and to rub their eyes, and think it will soon be breakfast time;
and in the evening, when their day is done, yours will be just beginning
again.
If there were any part of the world upon which the sun never shone, how
cold and dark and desolate that forsaken spot would be! If no waves of heat
warmed the earth, not a seed could spring up; no plant could live, no tree
bear fruit, no flower lift up its head to the kindly light and show its
fair colours; for do you not remember we learnt that the colours of flowers
all come from the sunlight? Without the sun, the green earth would be
changed into a frozen desert, with nothing living or moving upon it.
In old times the clever Greeks, who knew nothing of the God who made this
wonderful star--for the sun is really a star, and the thousands of stars
which we see on clear nights are suns, some larger and some smaller than
our sun--worshipped it as the god Helios; and the Grecian philosopher who
first ventured to say it was not so was tried for his life at Athens for
his impiety; yet even he saw nothing in this wonderful light-bearer but a
red-hot stone, half as big as his own country. If you have learnt better,
if you know that "to us there is but one God, the Father, of whom are all
things, and we in Him; and one Lord Jesus Christ, by whom are all things,
and we by Him," you can think how good that gracious God has been in not
leaving the world in the dark and cold, but giving this great light to
shine upon us, and to cheer us by his warmth. For though the sun is so very
far away, "there is nothing hid from the heat thereof"; every little leaf,
every tiny creature that creeps upon the ground, lives and grows in the
life-giving rays of the sun, and would perish without them. Have you ever
stopped to think of what is more wonderful than this?
God, who made the sun, is Love, as the text you know so well, tells us; and
His love is like His sun, always shining down upon you. All the love and
kindness which you have known from the day when you came into the world, a
little helpless creature, with "no language but a cry"; all this love which
surrounds you and has made your life so happy and bright, comes from Him;
for "love is of God," and "God is love."
But it is only when God turns our hearts to Himself, so that we can say
that we have "known and believed" His love to us, that we can really thank
Him for it. When one, who knew what it was to have had his own dark heart
lighted up by this great love, was thinking of these things, he wrote
some words which I am going to write down for you, for they deserve to be
remembered.
"The creation of the sun," he says, "was a very glorious work; when God
first rolled him flaming along the sky, he shed golden blessing on every
shore. The change in spring is very wonderful; when God makes the faded
grass revive, the dead trees put out green leaves, and the flowers appear
on the earth. But far more glorious and wonderful is the conversion (that
is, the turning to God) of the soul. It is the creation of a sun that is to
shine for eternity; it is the spring of the soul that shall know no winter,
the planting of a tree that shall bloom with eternal beauty in the paradise
of God." McCheyne wrote like this because he knew that
"When this passing world is done,
When has sunk yon glaring sun,"
the spirit, that part of man which can never come to an end of its life,
will still be living somewhere; and that those only who have been turned to
God, and are His children by faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, will live with
Him all through that great _for ever_ which will go on when sun and moon
and all that we can see may have passed away.
And now, before I try to tell you a very little about the sun, I should
like to know whether you have ever learnt any astronomy. My children
thought it a hard name, but its meaning is beautiful, for it is only the
Greek way of saying, "the law of the stars." Astronomy is the science which
teaches us about the heavenly bodies, as the sun, moon, and stars are
sometimes called; and all that we can learn about them is very wonderful
and interesting, so that the more we know, the more we want to know. But
the pleasantest way for you to learn would be if someone would talk to you
a little, especially about the stars, and take you out of doors on clear
nights, and show you some of those which are best known, so that in time
you would learn to look for them yourself; _that_ would be a delightful way
of beginning to learn.
I remember that I had a great wish to know about the different
constellations, or groups of stars; I wanted to know where to find Orion,
with his seven brilliant stars, and those other seven stars which form the
group called Charles's Wain; from an idea that they are so placed as to
give a rough sketch of a waggon and three horses; and the wonderful cluster
of the Pleiades--for I had heard of all these constellations; but I did not
like the trouble of learning about them in difficult books. One day I met a
gentleman who was very fond of sailing about in his yacht, and I thought he
would teach me all about the stars, for I had heard that sailors knew them
well. But, to my disappointment, I found that my new friend, though he was
very kind to me, was not able to answer my questions; he said he did not
know much about the stars, and that it was in the old times, before ships
were steered by the compass, that sailors learned so much from watching
them; though the moon considered in reference to the fixed stars is of very
great importance as enabling them to ascertain their position.
Though it is a long time ago, I can remember how surprised I was when I
first understood that the sun was a star, and that there are other stars
very much like him, but most of them so very far from us that it is not
possible to measure their distance. We do know how far our sun--the Star
of Day, as he is sometimes called--is from us. Perhaps it may help you a
little if I tell you that the astronomers say that if the sun was as far
away from us as the nearest of these stars, he would appear but a point of
light; but I think you will best understand how great the distance is if I
tell you that a train, rushing along at full speed, as you see the express
go by, and never resting, day or night, would take two hundred and ten
years to reach him.
We cannot be surprised that very little is known certainly about a star so
very far off, and yet nearer to us than any of the little points of light
which you see so thickly sown over the sky; but we know that he is a great
globe, like our earth, only twelve hundred thousand times as large--as much
larger, I told the children when we were having our lesson in astronomy, as
May's curly head was larger than the little blue bead which I put upon it.
But this great globe is unlike the earth in one respect; for while _it_ is
in itself quite dark, the sun which is used in the Bible as an emblem of
God Himself shines by his own glorious light, and though he is believed to
be made of the same materials as our earth, it is likely that they are in a
state of very great heat.
Astronomers, who look at the sun through their wonderful telescopes, and
so get much nearer to him than we can, tell us that we never see the sun
himself; but that what we look at is the bright garment of light which is
wrapped around him. They tell us also about great holes which sometimes
appear in this bright covering; and they believe that they have actually
seen, through these holes, the dark globe which is the real sun. These
holes are called spots upon the sun, and very dark they look upon his
bright face. The astronomers have long tried to find out what makes the
sun-spots, and some of them now think that they are caused by furious winds
which make great rents in this bright garment; for they tell us that there
are sun-storms far more terrible than any storm that ever raged on sea or
land.
It was while patiently watching the movement of these dark spots, through
the little telescope which he had made and set up in Rome, that Galileo,
nearly three hundred years ago, discovered that the sun moves round upon
itself once during twenty-eight days, just as the earth turns round on
herself once in twenty-four hours. But he lived in a time when it was
believed that our earth was the centre of the universe, and that to say
that it was only one of many planets moving round the sun was to deny the
word of God; so to save his life, he pretended to give up what he knew to
be true, and promised that he would never teach it again.