Democratic Sentinel, Volume 8, Number 38, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 October 1884 — MY BLUE-EYED GENTIANS. [ARTICLE]

MY BLUE-EYED GENTIANS.

BY S. B. T.

The weeks had been weary and full of pain. All through the lovely September weather I had been a prisoner within four close walls; and as October was flinging her banner of scarlet and gold upon the hillsides, I came slowly back to strength and freedom. John, my own dear blessed John, who had been so patient and tender through all the changes of mental moods and tenses caused by tortured, diseased nerves, persuaded me, one lovely Indian summer day, to take a drive with him out into the sunshine and softened, misty glory. But I was weak and depressed, and hardly knew whether, on the whole, to be glad or sorry I came. As we drove quietly over the hills and through the valleys, I was rebellious and out of tune, and all the beauty around me failed to bring harmony out of the discords. John, wise and thoughtful, did not directly combat my humor, but contented himself with a few quiet words now and then to draw my thoughts from myself to the lovely scenes around us. But he did not break the spell of silence, for I felt so weak and useless, such a dead weight in God’s world of busy workers, that all the beauty jarred upon me, and I longed for clouds to correspond with the shadows in my heart. Suddenly John checked Neddie Norse, and, springing from the carriage, soon placed in my hands a bunch of the loveliest blue blossoms I had ever seen “Oh, what are they?” I cried. “I have it now! You know in Whittier’s ‘Psalm’ he says of autumn: " ‘Yet shall the blue-eyed gentian look Through fringed lids to heaven; and see! this answers the description perfectly. They are very rare, and I never saw one before!” John smiled at my flushed, lighted face, so different from the pale, listless one of a few moments before. “Drive on slowly, dear, ”he said, “and I will pick a large bunch for you. The ground is blue with them a little further into the swamp.” “Oh, those blue-eyed gentians! Never were larger, more perfect specimens found than those which came to us that autumn day. Neddie seemed to understand the case perfectly, and walked leisurely along, as though waiting for flower-hunters had been the business of his life, while I drank in the beauty of the blossoms eagerly, and studied their lovely proportions; noted the dainty pencilings in the heart of the flowers, and the exquisite fringes, which in their softness and grace sqmehow reminded me of the delicate drooping lashes which lay closed upon my dead baby’s face years ago. When John returned, his hands overflowing with their wealth of beauty, he found my tongue verily unloosed, and my heart stirred to its depth with enthusiasm. “Isn’t it strange enough,” I said, “and romantic, too, that Whittier should tell me the name of our flower ? And Lucy Larcom, I think it is, says, “The gentian Hangs all her fringes opt on sunny days.” O John, I am so glad I came!” and I kissed my precious blossoms in my delight. My good man’s grave and tender eyes looked at me with a smile in them; “Yes, darling,” he said, “I thank Providence, and Whittier, and all the sweet influences which have proved such a potent medicine. Providence directed us this way, where we should find the flowers, and Whittier has suggested all sorts of happy thoughts by his vivid description. lam so glad the sunshine has crept into your heart, and shines out of your eyes.” Then, as we rode homeward, I confessed it all to John; all the rebellion and bitterness that had blinded my eyes to the beauty around. But now all was changed. It seemed as though the golden, mellow day was sacred, and the calm a Sabbath calm of peace. As I looked on the soft autumn glory Whittier’s “Psalm” still echoed in my heart, and the same poem which had christened my treasures sent its strong, grand measures to lift and sustain my weak soul. Neddie walked slowly up a hill and through a grove where the dying glory of the trees strewed the ground, as I said: “I see it all, John. The discipline is needed, and yet there are compensations. Autumn, bleak and dreary, has its Indian summer, its drapery of scarlet and gold, and even its asters and blue-eyed gentians.” I bent low over the blossoms which had been such eloquent teachers, and John repeated softly from this grand poem, while my heart echoed his words: , All as God wills, who wisely heeds, To give or to withhold. And knuweih more of all my needs Than all my prayers have told. Enough that blessings undeserved Have marked my erring track. That wheresoe'er my feet have swerved His chastening turned me back. That more and more a Providence Of love is understood. Making the springs of time and sense Sweet with eternal good. Looking up from the flowers with swimming eyes, I whispered, smiling through my tears: And so the shadows fall apart. And so the west winds play. And all the windows of my heart I open to the day.