If the poor prisoner had been happy and busy, he perhaps would have thought
no more of the little plant; but he was very sad and lonely, and he could
not be busy as he had no books to read, and all the occupations which he
most cared for had been taken from him. So this living thing was to him
like a country in which he was constantly discovering some new wonder
and beauty. He loved to watch the lonely plant, which was, to his fancy,
a prisoner like himself; and when at last the buds unfolded, and the
flowers--such sweet flowers with such gay colours--bloomed, he was filled
with delight; he guarded his treasure with the most anxious care, for if
a hasty foot had trodden it down, he would have lost a friend which had
cheered for him many a sad hour.
But I have not yet told you what this prison-flower taught the lonely
prisoner. As day by day he watched the growth of that humble little plant,
God spoke to him. He had spent his life without thinking much about God,
and when he had thought about Him, he had been like that poor proud man of
whom God's word says that he is a "fool," although men may think him very
clever.
He had many times said in his heart, "There is no God;" and he used to try
to believe that there was no one greater or wiser than a man like himself,
and that all that he saw in the world--the mountains, and sea, and all the
wonderful works of God--came of themselves; or, as he said, "by chance.
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