If you are fond of poetry, you may like to read some
lines written by the poet McCheyne about this incident.
"Sad, faint, and weary, on the sand
Our traveller sat him down; his hand
Covered his burning head;
Above, beneath, behind, around,
No resting for the eye he found--
All nature seemed as dead.
"One tiny tuft of moss alone,
Mantling with freshest green a stone,
Fixed his delighted gaze;
Through bursting tears of joy he smiled,
And while he raised the tendril wild,
His lips o'erflowed with praise.
"'Oh, shall not He who keeps thee green
Here in the waste, unknown, unseen,
Thy fellow-exile save?
He who commands the dew to feed
Thy gentle flower, can surely lead
Me from a scorching grave.'"
The poem has many more verses, but I think these the prettiest. Moss has
been spoken of by a poet as the "nest of time"; it has also been called
"nature's livery," because the earth is clothed with it; and I have read
that Mungo Park's little teacher may be found upon many a wall near London,
and also clinging to those great stones which were once part of the walls
of far away Jerusalem. It is nice to think that the little green plants,
which we have such reason to love--because they are brightest and best in
the winter-time, when all our
"Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining,
Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day,
Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining,
Buds that open only to decay.
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