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
Bladee’s Redemptive Rap
Georg Friedrich Philipp von Hardenberg, better known by his pen name Novalis, died at the age of…
Postliberalism and Theology
After my musings about postliberalism went to the press last month (“What Does “Postliberalism” Mean?”, January 2026),…
Nuns Don’t Want to Be Priests
Sixty-four percent of American Catholics say the Church should allow women to be ordained as priests, according…
