One of the joys of my life is
teaching literature. In one of my classes, we've been talking about
symbols---both contextual and cultural.
Contextual symbols are specific to a particular work, but cultural
symbols are ones we all understand to a degree.
Well, now, it's almost
autumn, and guess what that's a symbol of? The end of life. It makes sense,
doesn't it? Gardens are finishing up
their productive cycle. Leaves will soon be falling all around us, making trees
look bare and dead (even though we know they're only resting). For some of us, autumn is a sad time. We miss
the ones we have lost, and we ponder our own passing that will come all too
soon. But it's also a beautiful time, just as the memory of loved ones and the
assurance of Heaven to come.
Here are two stanzas of a
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. She captures the feeling I want to
cultivate for myself. I am always sad when summer is over, but I also want to
see the blessing of the changing season and to know that God's plan is a good
one. When I see the order of the seasons, I know He has everything in His
mighty, loving hand.
The dearest hands that clasp our hands, —
Their presence may be o’er;
The dearest voice that meets our ear,
That tone may come no more!
Youth fades; and then, the joys of youth,
Which once refresh’d our mind,
Shall come — as, on those sighing woods,
The chilling autumn wind.
Hear not the wind — view not the woods;
Look out o’er vale and hill —
In spring, the sky encircled them —
The sky is round them still.
Come autumn’s scathe — come winter’s cold —
Come change — and human fate!
Whatever prospect Heaven doth bound,
Can ne’er be desolate.
Their presence may be o’er;
The dearest voice that meets our ear,
That tone may come no more!
Youth fades; and then, the joys of youth,
Which once refresh’d our mind,
Shall come — as, on those sighing woods,
The chilling autumn wind.
Hear not the wind — view not the woods;
Look out o’er vale and hill —
In spring, the sky encircled them —
The sky is round them still.
Come autumn’s scathe — come winter’s cold —
Come change — and human fate!
Whatever prospect Heaven doth bound,
Can ne’er be desolate.
(from "The Autumn" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning)
--Sherry Poff
