He may spread his sad trophies around in brief, blind rage; but they soon obliterate all traces of his path, and make beautiful what he has scarred with wounds or disfigured by the tramp of his iron heel." "Not so, my children," said the calm voice of the maiden's father, to whose ears the remark had come.

"Not so, my children.

The sun and dew never fully restore what the storm has broken and trampled upon.
They may hide disfiguring marks, and cover with new forms of life and beauty the ruins which time can never restore.

This is something, and we may take the blessing thankfully, and try to forget what is lost, or so changed as to be no longer desirable.
Look at this fallen and shattered elm, my children.

Is there any hope for that in the dew, the rain and sunshine?
Can these build it up again, and spread out its arms as of old, bringing back to me, as it has done daily, the image of my early years?
No, my children.
After every storm are ruins which can never be repaired.