The Perennial Bloom of Truth

In some gardens one finds only such flowers as have grown from seeds planted in the springtime. When the frosts come the leaves are withered, and when the year is again warmed by the sun, no green shoot comes up from the place where last year color rioted, unless once again the seed be sown. There are other gardens where flourish perennial growths. Should the gardener be gone for a year's space, leaving no hand to tend his much-loved plants, they would still appear to greet the sun in the spring, and their blooms would open at the appointed time. The iris would disclose her royal purple, the fragrance of the shy lily-of-the-valley would pervade the tree-shaded corner, and like a string of pearls the white bells would lie upon the long green leaves. Roses, roses, roses, would be everywhere,—shell-pink like the hues of dawn, or those redder than flame that clamber in ruddy billows upon walls and trellises, or roses with a coloring which surpasses in beauty the finest gold. Perchance you have visited an old home whose tenants had long departed, and in the garden found, amoung weeds and decay, a June rose, perfect, exquisite. Then you have witnessed the wonder of perennial bloom offering its yearly beauty because of its own life and nature.

Thus are we reminded of the offerings made by truth. They are not like human sentiments, theories, and ideals, which bloom and pass with the season. Let the seed of truth be once implanted, and its growth will become perpetual. It may appear as a prophet's vision or a poet's song, and the days of the seer or singer may long ago have ended, but the truth he has sown blooms renewedly for later generations. In the quiet time of thought, in reverie, in the deeps of joy or the depths of sorrow, when the noise and clamant confusion of life has become as it were distant from us, we may enjoy the fragrance of truth's perennial bloom.

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Thankful for Gratitude
November 25, 1905
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