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If the snowdrop may be called the morning star that ushers in the dawn of the floral year, the crocus may be said to be its sunrise. So much is the crocus associated with the showers and the sunbeams of April, that it requires a special mental effort, even when the fact is known, to realise that it also blooms in the fading light and amid the withering foliage of September. There are well-known species of crocus that flower only during the autumnal months. In Switzerland the sandy meadows along the banks of the Alpine streams are covered with myriads of autumn crocuses, whose exquisitely pure and delicate amethystine hue in the glowing sunshine is a feast of colour of which the eye never wearies. Every one is familiar with the pale violet saffron crocus, which blooms according to soil and position from the end of September to the beginning of November. If the yellow spring crocus is the golden sunrise of the floral year, the lilac autumn crocus is its sunset. The autumn crocus is a type of one of the most interesting phenomena of nature and of human life. In many departments there are numerous instances of the recurrence at a later period of something that belongs to an earlier time. The crimson and gold of the sunrise is repeated in the splendour of sunset. The older one grows, the more pathetic does the tender grace of each spring become. So much of what we loved and lost never comes back, that the beauty of the spring touches us like the brightness of a perfect day, when the grave is closing over dear eyes that shall never more behold it. Why should the inferior things of nature return, and those for whose use they were all made, lie unconscious in the dust? The aged live in the springs of the past and their life goes forward to another and brighter spring in the eternal world, of which the springs of earth are only fleeting types and shadows. But though the bright flame of their spring crocus has burnt down to the socket, and only the green monotonous leaves remain behind, is there no re-kindling in the withered plot of their life of the autumn crocus, whose more sober hue befits the sadder character of the season? Yes, man's life, too, has its Indian summer and its autumn crocus. The season of decay brings to him also reminiscences of the bright season of renewal. Often, where others see only withered leaves, the heart feels the springing of vernal flowers. Job, describing the happiness which he had in former years, and longing for its return, says, "Oh that I were as I was in the days of my youth!" This phrase literally means the vintage season, the time of fruit gathering; and the authorised version, adopting another translation which the phrase also bears, unwittingly expresses the subtle connection between youth and age, the spring and the autumn, the blossoming and the fruit time of life. The true days of Job's youth was the period when his life became young again through the maturity of his powers, and the consummation of his hopes. It was in the autumn of his life that he enjoyed all those blessings of prosperity whose loss he deplores. The legitimate symbolic use of autumn is as the season of ripeness — fulness of power, not of decay. That there are days and signs of youth in the time of the harvest and vintage of life everyone can testify. The autumn fields are "happy" with the flowers that tell of spring, with the remembrance of days that are no more. True, indeed, the autumn crocus is not the same flower as the spring crocus. It has hues deeper and more intense. It speaks of change and decay. So the joys of our early life, which we recall in late years, are not the same as when they stirred our young blood; we colour them with the deeper and tenderer hues of our own spirit. In the physical sphere of man there are numerous instances of the spring crocus blooming again in the autumn. The cutting of new teeth, and the growth of young hair, in old age, are by no means so infrequent as we might suppose. The eagle's power of self-renewal has been manifested by many an aged form. In the mental sphere the growth of the autumn crocus is much more common than in the physical, and much more precious and beautiful. How numerous and splendid are the examples of intellect disclosing its fullest powers at the very close of life! As an old man Cute learnt Greek. Goethe was fourscore years old when he completed the second part of Faust. Literary men have often recorded the peculiar delight with which in their later years they have returned to the studies of their youth. The Chinese encourage their students to persevere in their mental pursuits to extreme old age, by bestowing the golden button of the successful candidate upon a man when he is eighty years old, although he has failed in all his previous examinations. But it is in the sphere of the soul that the autumn crocus blooms most beautifully. The rejuvenescence of the soul, the renewal of the spiritual life, may be the experience of all. This youthful victoriousness — the inward man being renewed more and more while the outward man is decaying — is the glory of every true Christian's old age. Only the fire that comes down from heaven can preserve the youth of the spirit amid all the changes and sorrows of life. Religion really lived keeps the heart always young, always tender. It teaches us that nothing beautiful or good once possessed is wholly lost to us; that there is a deeper truth in the words, "A thing of beauty is a joy forever," than even its poet knew.

(Hugh Macmillan, D. D.)

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KJV: His flesh shall be fresher than a child's: he shall return to the days of his youth:

WEB: His flesh shall be fresher than a child's. He returns to the days of his youth.