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
The Church’s Answer to the World (ft. Carter Griffin)
In the latest installment of the ongoing interview series with contributing editor Mark Bauerlein, Fr. Carter Griffin…
Voyages to the End of the World
Francis Bacon dreamed of abolishing disease, natural disasters, and chance itself. He also dreamed of abolishing God.
The Lost Art of Saying “No”
Conservative pundit Matt Walsh recently contended that “we have to recapture the long-lost art of saying ‘no.’”…
