Читать книгу The Deaf Shoemaker: To Which Are Added Other Stories for the Young - Barrett Philip - Страница 16

Table of Contents

“There is no rose without a thorn.”

There are few lovelier things than the rose to be met with along the pathway of life.

There is something about it so meek and modest, that I love to look at it; and what is sweeter than the mellow fragrance of a beautiful rose? It always reminds me of that beautiful country where, we are told, never-fading flowers continue to bloom forever.

The Church of Christ is compared, in the Bible, to the Rose of Sharon; and it seems to me that the inspired penman could not have found, throughout the length and breadth of the world, anything better suited to convey the idea of gentle lowliness and meek humility, than the rose.

Its fragrance can be enjoyed by all. It is not sweeter to the king than to the peasant. So with religion. It is a fountain from which all can drink.

There is another thing about the rose which should teach us a lesson. As there is no rose without a thorn, so there is no enjoyment without some pain connected with it. There are many children who are always discontented; they are never pleased with any thing, but are always looking out for what is disagreeable, and not for what is pleasant. What is this, but forgetting the delightful fragrance of the rose, and piercing our fingers with the few thorns which are about it. Our blessings are much more numerous than our cares and troubles. Why not, then, clip off the thorns, and keep merely the fully opened rose?

As the leaves of the rose wither and die, so must we.

Let us always remember this, and also live in such a way, by shedding a sweet fragrance about our pathway, that all who know us will love us, and forget the few thorns of evil which may be found in our characters.

“How fair is the rose! what a beautiful flower,

The glory of April and May;

And the leaves are beginning to fade in an hour,

And they wither and die in a day.

“Yet the rose has one powerful virtue to boast,

Above all the flowers of the field:

When its leaves are all dead and fine colors lost,

Still how sweet a perfume it will yield!

“So frail is the youth and the beauty of man,

Though they bloom and look gay like a rose:

But all our fond care to preserve them is vain—

Time kills them as fast as he goes.

“Then I’ll not be proud of my youth or my beauty,

Since both of them wither and fade,

But gain a good name by well doing my duty;

This will scent like a rose when I’m dead.”