William J. Watkins to Frederick Douglass, May 6, 1854
LETTER FROM WILLIAM J. WATKINS.
SMITH'S CORNERS, May 6th, '54.
FREDERICK DOUGLASS, ESQ.:—DEAR SIR:—The snow, and rain, and hail stones which have "borne me faithful company" since I left Rochester, have pretty well convinced me that life is a sober reality. I reached Auburn just in time to meet the thunder storm of April 27th. On the 28th and 29th, the good people of Auburn, and vicinity, were visited with snow, and rain, alternately; the rain at last gaining the mastery. I have had but one bright day during my present tour. This morning, (6th May,) we have an old fashioned snow storm. But the sun must be behind the clouds, and cannot much longer remain in his hiding place. I shall greet his coming with a cheerful heart, and
shall certainly know how to appreciate the light of his countenance.
But you may rest assured, that the stormy, unfavorable weather, altho' I should like to have it more pleasant, does not cause my heart to grow weary, for I know, as Miss Griffiths once remarked, "we shall not have rain always." Such storms as we are having now are only episodes after all. If we were always in a storm, and heard nought else but the thunder's voice, and saw only the lightning's flash, why then, we might give up to despondency and despair.
Is there not a lesson to be learned from this reflection? There is, I think, a moral here, which we would do well to learn, who come into the world about the black wing of the spirit of the storm. The other day while sitting near the window, I looked out upon the trees, which were seemingly struggling into greenhood, but the snow had covered them. All without was as cold and dreary as the grave. My soul was seized with sadness, and thus did I soliloquize. Well, friend Douglass told me so. He told me that "after a while I should find out what a lecturing tour is." And now, I have found it out. That predicted "after a while," has surely come. I began to think of the comforts of home, of a smiling wife, of kind friends whose words of cheer, are merry music to my soul, and I wish I was in Rochester. Yes ! I acknowledge, friend Douglass, your "after a while" had come.
Just then, a little robin came to the window, and really made me ashamed of myself. The wings of the king bird were completely saturated with the rain and the snow. He attempted to fly several times, but in vain, for his wings were bathed in water. He hopped amid the branches of the snow-clad trees, and resting upon a limb that spoke to
him of winter, peeped out upon the dreary scene, and sang as sweetly in the storm, as he ever did in the sunshine. It was not a plaintive melody he sang, but one of mirthfulness and glee. He was a hero sent to revive my drooping spirits. And this was the language of his song. "'Tis spring, the time of spring; the blossoms have come; they are only covered by the snow. A brighter day is on the wing, and then the blossoms will appear, and the earth, with its robe of green. And so I'll sing about the flowers."
This was my interpretation of the robin's song in a snow storm in the month of May.—The little warbler taught me a lesson, I shall ever remember, especially in the storm.
Let every one, "When sorrow bows his spirit down," remember the robin in the storm.
We, as a people, are not sufficiently hopeful. When the rains descend, and the floods come, we forget that God holds the waters in the hollow of his hand. I wish all our people would listen to the robin's song.—Then would they hope on, hope ever. The blossoms cannot always be covered with the snow, for the sunshine must come at last.—Sorrow and darkness may continue for a night, but joy shall come forth in the morning.
I wonder if there are any Robins in Cleveland? If so, I hope their song will be heard in the coming Convention. But we had forgotten. The Robin has already been informed that his song will not be welcome. The dull, discordant croaking of the Raven and the Crow, will be heard in preference to the soothing harmony of the Robin's song. Well, so be it; the end is not yet. Our brethren will, probably, after the adjournment of the adjournment, come to the conclusion to listen to the Robin's song, and drive Despondency from their furrowed brow.
Your, in Hope
WILLIAM J. WATKINS