THE ALPINE FLOWER.
DOWN, down, o'er rocky ledge, the chamois hunter fell,
Till shelving of a fissure chanced his feet to stay.
Far, far above him rose the white-capped, Alpine heights;
A precipice below. Above, the mountain goat
With flying feet mocked his despair. The eternal snows,
Gleaming in sunshine, winged no prayer to heaven
On airy flight or icy spire, but shimmered down
Its glory to the depths below, lighting his tomb.
The weary day was folded in its stern repose
By dreary curtains of the night. The burning eyes
Of myriad stars looked down, the while o'er cloud-flecked blue
The moon trailed silver robes. Oh, solitude so grand!
Thy speech too deep for human words! Silence, whose hush
Startles to fear at distant roar of glacier's sweep,
Then vast, profound, as o'er creation's morn held sway.
At last the awful hours sped by, and daylight dawned;
And looking up to greet the light, he saw a flower—
A little blue-fringed gentian—growing in the rock.
Borne by the careless wind, the seed had fallen there
In crevice bare; now for him smiled its lovely bloom.
"Promise of good! Shall God," thought he,
"Care for the flower and not for me?"
And lifting up his voice, there rang
O'er cliff and mountain glade:
"God is our refuge and our strength,
In straits a present aid."
Higher than Alpine crags the echoes of that song
Moved on and on, until they reached a human ear.
Or did an angel, listening, swiftly bear the need
To Him who hears our lowliest cry of faith and trust'?
Ah, who may know? But answering shouts rolled down and down,
Until the hymn, so like a wailing prayer begun,
Rose like a mighty chorus to the sky again.
How cruel seemed thy fate, O flower of Alpine vale,
To find a barren rock whereon to rest!
And yet thy blue-fringed petals wept glad tears of joy,
When, folded to a loving mother's breast,
The mission of thy life was told, that saved her boy.
And like a precious treasure, to this day,
In sacred Bible lid thou 'rt hid away!
Christian Weekly