I love to see the leaves arrive,
the new green spangling the blue,
when branches, struggling alive,
remake my window’s skyward view;
or, looking down, to see the soil
pierced by the grassy vanguard’s blades
and know that germination’s toil
will end in flowered accolades.
And when I hear the shackled stream,
shedding its icy iron chains,
begin to live its dormant dream
and sing its rivulet refrains,
a hope wells up that there will come
another spring of Christendom.
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
Against “God Alone”
A few years ago, I had some routine surgery. Something went wrong in recovery. The nurses on the…
The Scandal of Judaism
Christianity has been marked by hostility toward Jews. I won’t rehearse the history. I’ll simply propose a…
Trump’s Civilizational Project
Secretary of State Marco Rubio spoke at the recent Munich Security Conference. Last year, Vice President JD…
