To what excellent account have our thoughtful old writers turned these
prophetic indications of changeful flowers! Bishop Hall, in his
_Occasional Meditations_, has the following “On the Light of Tulips, and
Marigolds, &c. in his Garden:” “These flowers are the true clients of
the sun; how observant they are of his motion and influence! At even,
they shut up, as mourning for his departure, without whom they neither
can see nor flourish; in the morning, they welcome his rising with a
cheerful openness; and at noon, are fully displayed in a free
acknowledgment of his bounty.
“Thus doth the good heart turn unto God. ‘_When thou turnedst away thy
face, I was troubled_,’ saith the man after God’s own heart. ‘_In thy
presence is life; yea, the fulness of joy._’ Thus doth the carnal heart
to the world: when that withdraws its favours, he is dejected; and
revives with a smile. All is in our choice. Whatsoever is our sun will
thus carry us.
“O God, be Thou to me such as Thou art in Thyself: Thou shalt be
merciful in drawing me; I shall be happy in following thee.”
The use of Perfumes in the last century exceeded that in the present
day. Possibly the old notion that they were employed to mask the
exhalations from diseased persons may have driven perfumes out of
fashion in our day; we recollect _musk_ to have been specially so
considered. Bishop Hall, in his _Occasional Meditations_, adverts to
this use of perfumes in a meditation illustrative of a custom which is
associated with the symbolic character of “flowers and redolent plants,
just emblems of the life of man, which has been compared in Holy
Scriptures to those fading beauties, whose roots, being buried in
dishonour, rise again in glory.”[135] The Bishop’s meditation is “On the
Sight of a Coffin stuck with Flowers:”
“Too fair in appearance is never free from just suspicion. While there
was nothing but wood, no flower was to be seen here; now that this wood
is lined with an unsavoury corpse, it is adorned with this sweet
variety. The fir, whereof that coffin is made, yields a natural
redolence alone; now that it is stuffed thus noisomely, all helps are
too little to countervail that scent of corruption.[136]
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Footnote 135:
Evelyn.
Footnote 136:
See “Flowers on Graves,” in _Mysteries of Life, Death, and Futurity_.
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