But the flower, though it perishes untimely, has not lived in vain. It has told its tale and borne its message. It is not only one of Nature's unfulfilled promises, it is also one of her unconscious prophecies. In every age and season there are hints and premonitions and vague foreshadowings of that which is to follow, promises "which are written upon the heart of things." Winter has her prophecies of spring, and spring of summer. It is the very nature of these to be abortive, or at least to bear no fruit unto perfection. In one sense they are failures, but in another they are nobler and more precious than, all present successes.
"The high that proved too high, the heroic for earth too hard,
The passion that left the ground to lose itself in the sky,
Are music sent up to God by the lover and the bard,—
Enough that He heard it once, we shall hear it by-and-by.
For what is our failure here but a triumph's evidence
For the fulness of the days?"
The music that throbbed and swelled and found an utterance—imperfect, indeed, but genuine—in the Holy Alliance, has not quite died away amidst the laughter of fools, and the clamorous, discordant voices of selfish politicians. "We shall hear it by-and-by," when a harmony serene and perfect—like that of the morning stars that sang together—shall usher in the reign of peace and righteousness for which the weary waiting earth has so long been yearning. For "the earth shall be filled with the knowledge of the glory of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea." "The kingdoms of this world shall become the kingdoms of our Lord, and of his Christ; and he shall reign for ever and ever." "In his days shall the righteous flourish; and abundance of peace so long as the moon endureth." "Nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more."
