Lotus Buds

Lotus Buds is a memoir by Amy Wilson Carmichael, a Christian missionary in India. During her stay in India, she opened an orphanage and founded a mission in Dohnavur, South India. Lotus Buds is one of her numerous books which describe her work and ministry with Indian children. In addition, the book features evocative portraits of the children from the orphanage.

"Lotus Buds" by Amy Carmichael is a collection of insightful and heartwarming stories that revolve around the experiences of children in India. Amy Carmichael, a Christian missionary and writer, shares narratives that reflect her deep love and compassion for the children she encountered during her work in Southern India. The stories within "Lotus Buds" provide glimpses into the lives, struggles, and joys of Indian children, particularly those in and around the Dohnavur Fellowship, a Christian mission founded by Carmichael. The title, "Lotus Buds," is symbolic, representing the potential for beauty and purity in the lives of these young ones despite challenging circumstances. Carmichael's writing is characterized by empathy and a keen understanding of the cultural context. Through these tales, she conveys important moral and spiritual lessons, often drawing parallels between the natural world and the spiritual realm. This collection is suitable for readers interested in missionary literature, Indian culture, and stories that celebrate the resilience and innocence of children. "Lotus Buds" stands as a testament to Amy Carmichael's dedication to her mission and her commitment to sharing the transformative power of love and faith.

This book assesses the continuity and significance of Hindu-Buddhist design motifs in Islamic mosques in Java. The volume investigates four pre-Islamic motifs in Javanese mosque ornamentation from the 15th century to the present day: prehistoric tumpals, Hindu-Buddhist kala-makaras, lotus buds, and scrolls.

NEAR an ancient temple in Southern India is a large calm, beautiful pool, enclosed by stone walls, broken here and there by wide spaces fitted with steps leading down to the water's edge; and almost within reach of the hand of one standing on the lowest step are pink Lotus lilies floating serenely on the quiet water or standing up from it in a certain proud loveliness all their own. We were travelling to the neighbouring town when we came upon this pool. We could not pass it with only a glance, so we stopped our bullock-carts and unpacked ourselves-we were four or five to a cart-and we climbed down the broken, time-worn steps and gazed and gazed till the beauty entered into us. Who can describe that harmony of colour, a Lotus-pool in blossom in clear shining after rain! The grey old walls, the brown water, the dark green of the Lotus leaves, the delicate pink of the flowers; overhead, infinite crystalline blue; and beyond the old walls, palms.

NEAR an ancient temple in Southern India is a large calm, beautiful pool, enclosed by stone walls, broken here and there by wide spaces fitted with steps leading down to the water's edge; and almost within reach of the hand of one standing on the lowest step are pink Lotus lilies floating serenely on the quiet water or standing up from it in a certain proud loveliness all their own.We were travelling to the neighbouring town when we came upon this pool. We could not pass it with only a glance, so we stopped our bullock-carts and unpacked ourselves—we were four or five to a cart—and we climbed down the broken, time-worn steps and gazed and gazed till the beauty entered into us.Who can describe that harmony of colour, a Lotus-pool in blossom in clear shining after rain! The grey old walls, the brown water, the dark green of the Lotus leaves, the delicate pink of the flowers; overhead, infinite crystalline blue; and beyond the old walls, palms.With us was a young Indian friend. "I will gather some of the lilies for you," he said, with the quick Indian desire to give pleasure; but some one interposed: "They must not be gathered by us. The pool belongs to the Temple."It was as if a stone had been flung straight at a mirror. There was a sense of crash and the shattering of some bright image. The Lotus-pool was a Temple pool; its flowers are Temple flowers. The little buds that float and open on the water, lifting young innocent faces up to the light as it smiles down upon them and fills them through with almost a tremor of joyousness, these Lotus buds are sacred things—sacred to whom?For a single moment that thought had its way, but only for a moment. It flashed and was gone, for the thought was a false thought: it could not stand against this—"All souls are Mine."All souls are His, all flowers. An alien power has possessed them, counted them his for so many generations, that we have almost acquiesced in the shameful confiscation. But neither souls nor flowers are his who did not make them. They were never truly his. They belong to the Lord of all the earth, the Creator, the Redeemer. The little Lotus buds are His—His and not another's. The children of the temples of South India are His—His and not another's.

Hundreds of beautifully rendered, royalty-free images painstakingly adapted from a host of design traditions: primitive tribal, Egyptian, Greek, Etruscan, Roman, Chinese, Japanese, Persian, Byzantine, French Renaissance and more. Also, decorative motifs derived from metalwork, heraldic ornament, floral vignettes, letters, other elements. Invaluable sourcebook for artists, craftworkers and decorative art enthusiasts.