THE 
 
 ROSE-B UD. 
 
 BY CHARLOTTE ELIZABETH, 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 DUBLIN : 
 
 PRINTED BY J. AND M. PORTEOUS, 
 19, MOORE-STREET. 
 
 . 1829. 
 
THE 
 
 ROSE-BUD. 
 
 Sit down, Louisa, under this plea- 
 sant shade; and listen to the story 
 which I am about to tell you. The 
 honeysuckle, while it defends us from 
 the sun's rays, is so beautiful to the 
 sight, and so fragrant to the smell, 
 that we scarcely know whether to ad- 
 mire it more for its loveliness or prize 
 it for its use. It is thus with most of 
 God's works, if we would but lay to 
 heart the sweet lessons that they can 
 teach us. But the history which you 
 are now to hear, is not of a honey- 
 suckle. A rosebud is the theme. 
 
 I don't know how many years it is 
 since I planted the slip from a very 
 
4 
 
 fine tree, growing in a friend's gar 
 den. It was a rich deep red, or rather 
 crimson, damask rose. The petals 
 were soft as velvet, with a most deli- 
 cate gloss : in short, the flower was 
 so exceedingly beautiful, that I could 
 not rest until I had, as I thought, se- 
 cured such a tree to myself. I took 
 off the slip in autumn, and placed it 
 under shelter during the winter. Ear- 
 ly in spring, I found that it had be- 
 come strongly rooted, and then I 
 transplanted it to the most favourite 
 spot in my garden, taking up seve- 
 ral valuable shrubs to make room for 
 my rose, my precious rose-bush ! 
 
 Many and frequent were my visits 
 to the spot ; and the little plant flou- 
 rished to my satisfaction. Leaf after 
 leaf came peeping forth and unfold- 
 ing its soft green upon the slender 
 shoots. At last, to my very great joy 
 I was able to distinguish amongst 
 them a little hard knot, which I knew 
 
would produce a bud — there was but 
 one: and if there had been no other 
 rose-bud in the kingdom, I could 
 scarcely have treasured it more proud- 
 ly, or set a higher value upon it. 
 
 I know what makes my little girl 
 smile : my lecture yesterday on the 
 folly and danger of giving our hearts 
 to earthly objects, seems to have been 
 rather different from my practice 
 in this instance. But I told you it 
 was many years ago ; and experience 
 has since, taught me what I shall be 
 very glad to see you learning in ear- 
 lier life, my Louisa. 
 
 Well — the bud grew: and what 
 with fine weather and my tender care 
 of it, there seemed to be every pros- 
 pect of its becoming as grand a rose 
 as any in my friend's garden. My 
 impatience to see it unfold its beau- 
 teous leaves was very great ; and I 
 well remember the joy with which I 
 first discovered a little blush of red in 
 
the centre of its soft green covering. 
 If I had watched as anxiously for the 
 budding of divine grace in my own 
 soul, what happiness! might have en- 
 joyed ! but my heart was then set 
 upon earthly things } and I grasped 
 at the gifts of God, in creation and 
 providence, without ever asking my- 
 self what fruit He expected in me, 
 Had my rose-bush put forth neither 
 leaves nor blossoms, I should have 
 flung it away, and made choice of 
 another : but though I was myself as 
 a dead plant in the garden of the vi- 
 sible church, I never reflected how 
 justly the same sentence might have 
 passed upon me. 
 
 It was now the beginning of June: 
 on every side the sweetest flowers 
 were opening, and their charming co- 
 lours invited my eye. Delicate pinks 
 and bright carnations; rich double 
 wall- flowers, and purple stocks ; tall 
 fair lillies, and superb convolvulus, 
 
7 
 
 with the star-like jasmine, and honey- 
 suckle as bright as that over our 
 heads, all put forth their sweets in 
 vain. The humble mignionette threw 
 its delightful breath around my path, 
 and the cheer ful- looking little hearts- 
 ease spread out a bordering carpet of 
 blue and gold. Nay, even a moss 
 blush rose was in full beauty, close 
 beside ; but all were disregarded ; 
 while I waited with fretful anxiety to 
 see my expected damask flower ex- 
 pand, and reign king over the garden. 
 
 Alas, poor foolish, thankless mor- 
 tals ! How heedlessly we pass by a 
 thousand blessings which our God 
 scatters about us, on the right hand 
 and on the left, while our eyes and 
 our hearts, our longings and our hopes 
 are fixed on some one perishing toy 
 which His wisdom sees good to with- 
 hold from us! 
 
 Still, all eager for the welfare of my 
 damask rose, I took up, and threw a- 
 
8 
 
 way whatever root grew too near it. 
 Some which I had planted the year 
 before, and which would not flower 
 till this their second summer, I now 
 regarded as quite worthless, compar- 
 ed with the important rose ; and I 
 (ore up their tender fibres, either 
 tossing them quite out of the garden, 
 or carelessly putting them in some 
 distant bed. Some magnificent ti&ex 
 lillies, in particular, were thus des- 
 troyed, lest their lofty heads should 
 come between the sun-beams and mv 
 rose — my precious damask rose-bud! 
 
 You smile, Louisa ; and at this 
 moment so do I at the recollection of 
 my childish folly : but if we consi- 
 dered it rightly, we should find in it 
 rather a matter for lamentation. The 
 time so lost upon one trivial object, 
 never can be recalled : the diligence 
 bestowed upon it was robbery of Him 
 whose we are, and whom we ought 
 to serve. I do not mean that we may 
 
9 
 
 not, even with profit to oiirseIvi% en- 
 joy the sweets of His creative bounty, 
 in the lovely works that surround us 
 here, in a garden : but in all cases we 
 must use the world as not abusing 
 it : and inordinate affection is alwavs 
 a sort of idolatry, highly displeasing 
 in the sight of God. Besides, in thus 
 extravagantly prizing one possession, 
 we are guilty of despising others: and 
 the destruction of my tiger lillies was 
 but a type of that unjust love of novel- 
 ty, \thich discards old friends for 
 new; and neglects a present privilege 
 while looking forward to one still dis- 
 tant and uncertain. 
 
 But listen to the end of my story. 
 The bud swelled to its full size; and 
 for several evenings I expected that 
 the following morning would shew it 
 expanded into a bright round flower. 
 It still remained the same, excepting 
 that a sickly yellowish cast stole over 
 the green leaves that enfolded it; and 
 
10 
 
 it became contracted a little on one 
 side. The rich crimson of its head 
 grew pale; it was soft to the touch, 
 and all my unwillingness to believe it 
 could not hide the truth that my hopes 
 would be blighted. At last it hung 
 down, so shrivelled and dried up, that 
 I could no longer doubt its fate. I 
 plucked it from the stem, and broke it 
 open. The canker was within ; and 
 my damask rose-bud was scattered 
 to the winds in fragments. 
 
 This lesson, Louisa, was not much 
 heeded at the time: I thought but of 
 the loss, not of the gain that it might 
 be to me : but I have since very often 
 thought of my damask rose-bud, and 
 found much to meditate upon. 
 
 The canker is a disease which takes 
 hold of the flower at a very early pe- 
 riod, but does not shew itself until it 
 has eaten away the principle of life in 
 the bud. How often does secret dis- 
 content, a bad temper, or an evil in- 
 
clination, prey upon the beauty of 
 the Christian character, destroy its 
 promise in this life, and perhaps de- 
 vour its hope for the life to come! I 
 watch you closely, my dear child, with 
 feelings of far deeper interest than 
 those with which I watched my rose- 
 bud ; for I desire to present you to 
 the Lord, without spot or blemish, and 
 there are many dangers both without 
 and within, to keep my anxiety awake. 
 Satan, as a raging lion, would break 
 in and trample you down, if not fenc- 
 ed around by Him who is able to keep 
 all that we commit unto Him. When 
 I see you surrounded by prosperity, 
 smiling in thoughtless joy, and with 
 no trouble to cloud your mind, I 
 sometimes tremble lest such summer 
 rays should scorch my bud. For in 
 seasons of great ease, the heart is of- 
 ten lifted up, and forgets its God. 
 When sickness, or the little disap- 
 pointments that even childhood must 
 
12 
 
 know, make you fretful, I fear that 
 you should be blown from the safe 
 shelter, where I would have you al- 
 ways lyin^ still, at the Saviour's feet. 
 The friendship of the world, and its 
 pleasures, are like insects that creep 
 over the leaf!, secretly devouring 1 , and 
 defiling where they pass. Ingrati- 
 tude is a blight, and pride is a canker 
 that lies deep — so deep as often not to 
 be seen by the eye of man — and 
 works at the very life of the soul. 
 
 There was once a perfect flower on 
 earth ; an unde filed one, which, ex- 
 posed to every enemy that could pos- 
 sibly rise up against us, conquered 
 them all by suffering their rage, and 
 then went to bloom for ever in a 
 inost glorious place. "The Rose of 
 Sharon" was the name of tins bright 
 flower; " a plant of renown." He 
 grew up " as a tender plant, and as a 
 root out of a dry ground." Isaiah 
 liii. 2. For His mortal birth was ob- 
 
1 • ' 
 
 It) 
 
 scure, and His dwelling- was in thehu 
 bitations of poverty. The world smil- 
 ed not upon Him — it said, " He hath 
 no form nor comeliness; and when 
 we shall see Him, there is no beauty 
 that we should desire Him," for in the 
 beauty of holiness, the world sees no- 
 thing desirable; and though "praise 
 is comely for the upright," a crooked 
 and perverse generation call it weari- 
 ness. This Rose of Sharon drooped 
 under many a storm, and was wound- 
 ed and torn by those whom He came 
 to enlighten and to bless. The thorns 
 were about His head, and their points 
 were turned in to pierce Him, that we 
 might escape torment. Such little 
 helpless buds as my Louisa, cannot 
 study too often the history of the 
 Rose, the Lord Jesus Christ, whom 
 they must be like upon earth, if they 
 would blossom in the heavenly gar- 
 den, where all His glories and beau- 
 ties are now expanded. We cannot 
 
love Him too much : we cannot list: 
 too early to seek after Him, nor visit 
 Him too often in prayer and praise. 
 We cannot be too anxious to root up 
 every thing that would prevent His 
 spreading in our hearts ; nor ought 
 we to rest till He reigns there in every 
 affection, pleasure, and hope. Many 
 beautiful things surround u s, for which 
 we are bound to return continual 
 thanks to God; but He is " a chief a- 
 mong ten thousand, and altogether 
 lovely." More welcome than the 
 snow-drop, He appears in the wintry 
 season of sorrow, to tell us that there 
 is yet life in the world, and brighter 
 days will come. More sweet than the 
 violet, He invites us to search for Him 
 in retirement, and overpays us a thou- 
 sand fold by His beauty and fra- 
 grance. More pure than the lily of 
 the valley, He is found among lowly 
 shrubs ; and if the rich and great re- 
 ceive Him He shews the loveliness of 
 
15 
 
 humility, and puts pride to shame. 
 More fruitful than the vine, lie over- 
 spreads the land that owns Him 
 with rich clusters; and says to His 
 branches, " Herein is my Father glo- 
 rified, that ye bear much fruit." Nay, 
 He is more precious than the tree of 
 life in paradise, for to Him no flam- 
 ing sword forbids the approach : but 
 in the voice of tenderest invitation, He 
 bids us draw nigh, and proclaims, 
 "He that eateth me, even he shall 
 live by me." 
 
 Childhood, like a budding rose, 
 
 In the world's wide garden grows; 
 
 But how often hateful sin, 
 
 Like a canker dwells within ; 
 
 All unseen by mortal eyes, 
 
 While the Rose-bud droops and dies* 
 
 Men behold the outward deed, 
 God the inward thought can read ; 
 
16 
 
 From our God we cannot hide, 
 Envy, anger, secret pride, 
 Clear as in the noon-day sun ? 
 God can read them every one. 
 
 To the Saviour let us pray — • 
 Lord, these cankers take away 
 Let thy Spirit dwell within, 
 Guarding us from every sin, 
 'Till, gathered by thy tender h 
 All thy buds in heaven expand 
 
 THE ETsO