After the Storm

As the lover and maiden stood looking at the signs of violence so

thickly scattered around, the former said, in a cheerful tone-"For all his wild, desolating power, the tempest is vassal to the

sun and dew. He may spread his sad trophies around in brief, blind

rage; but they soon obliterate all traces of his path, and make

beautiful what he has scarred with wounds or disfigured by the tramp

of his iron heel."

"Not so, my children," said the calm voice of the maiden's father,

to whose ears the remark had come. "Not so, my children. The sun and

dew never fully restore what the storm has broken and trampled upon.

They may hide disfiguring marks, and cover with new forms of life

and beauty the ruins which time can never restore. This is

something, and we may take the blessing thankfully, and try to

forget what is lost, or so changed as to be no longer desirable.

Look at this fallen and shattered elm, my children. Is there any

hope for that in the dew, the rain and sunshine? Can these build it

up again, and spread out its arms as of old, bringing back to me, as

it has done daily, the image of my early years? No, my children.

After every storm are ruins which can never be repaired. Is it not

so with that lightning-stricken oak? And what art can restore to its

exquisite loveliness this statue of Hope, thrown down by the

ruthless hand of the unsparing tempest? Moreover, is there human

vitality in the sunshine and fructifying dew? Can they put life into

the dead?

"No--no--my children. And take the lesson to heart. Outward tempests

but typify and represent the fiercer tempests that too often

desolate the human soul. In either case something is lost that can

never be restored. Beware, then, of storms, for wreck and ruin

follow as surely as the passions rage."