If scarlet
represents sin among the flower family then in his congregation
are many sinners, for the vivid hues of the cardinal blossoms
burn like coals of fire against their setting of green shrubs
and vines. Joe Pye weeds blush at what they hear, as if guilty
of some flagrant wrong, although they took their name from Joe
Pye, the Indian who cured typhus fever in New England by means
of these plants. Elecampane stands up tall and straight as if
conscious of having been mentioned by Hippocrates, the father of
medicine, more than two thousand years ago, as being an
important stimulant to the brain and stomach. Fox gloves, those
Good Samaritans among the flowers, bend low their lovely heads
to catch Jack's text, and among the patron Saints John's wort
humbly rears its yellow flowers, unmindful that it was hung at
the doors and windows on St. John's Eve as a safeguard against
thunder and evil spirits. As if to destroy the good Jack wished
to do, the Devil's Paint Brush (European Hawk-weed) had been
busy among the brethren, sowing seeds of strife and contention
and the brilliant orange blotches interspersed among the other
members told how successful were his labors.
We have not told much about the battle of Gettysburg and the
observing historian may say that our time was wholly wasted, but
the wonderful words of Lincoln's Gettysburg Speech still ring in
our ears like heavenly music and as we turned to leave this
"hallowed" - this "consecrated" - spot, the lines repeated here by
Ella Wheeler Wilcox came to us like some grand triumphal strain
of music:
"We know that you died for Freedom,
To save our land from shame,
To rescue a periled Nation,
And we give you deathless fame.
'Twas the cause of Truth and Justice
That you fought and perished for,
And we say it, oh, so gently,
'Our boys who died in the war.'
Saviors of our Republic,
Heroes who wore the blue,
We owe the peace that surrounds us,
And our Nation's strength to you.
We owe it to you that our banner,
The fairest flag in the world,
Is today unstained, unsullied,
On the summer air unfurled.
We look on the stripes and spangles
And our hearts are filled the while
With love for the brave commanders
And the boys of the rank and file.
The grandest deeds of valor
Were never written out,
The noblest acts of virtue
The world knows nothing about.
And many a private soldier
Who walks his humble way,
With no sounding name or title,
Unknown to the world today,
In the eyes of God is a hero
As worthy of the bays,
As any mighty general
To whom the world gives praise.
For next to our God is our Nation,
And we cherish the honored name,
Of the bravest of all brave armies
Who fought for the Nation's fame."
CHAPTER V
ATLANTIC CITY
O ye, who dwell in youth's inviting bowers,
Waste not, in useless joy, your fleeting hours,
But rather let the tears of sorrow roll,
And sad reflection fill the conscious soul.
For many a jocund spring has passed away,
And many a flower has blossomed to decay;
And human life, still hastening to a close,
Finds in the worthless dust its last repose.
Still the vain world abounds in strife and hate,
And sire and son provoke each other's fate;
And kindred blood by kindred hands is shed,
And vengeance sleeps not - dies not, with the dead.
All nature fades - the garden's treasures fall,
Young bud, and citron ripe - all perish - all.
