The Easter Promenade

 

 

Easter Promenade
It's Easter in Washington, late though it comes,
So blare on the trumpets and beat on the drums,
And pin on the orchids so fragile and scentless,
The Easter paraders will move on relentless.
Three hundred and sixty-four days we've been striding
Because of an A card that won't permit riding,
But prop up our feet today? We will have none of it!
Easter's for walking-and just for the fun of it!
Forego that long hike and stay home to put soup on?
Conserve precious leather and 17 coupon?
Ah, no, let us join the Sunday morn marches.
Up with the chins, girls, and down with the arches.
On with the dress with the frou-frou upon it
On with the maddest of mad Easter bonnets.
Add all the touches to prove that we know style,
Watch for the cameraman-give him the profile.
For it's Easter in Washington-on with the strolling.
It's for the pedestrians bells will be tolling.
H.V.

At Easter

At Easter by Kate A. Bradley

I wonder if the anguished moon looked
down
Through all that long last night
And buried in her scarred breast, lean and
brown,
The memory of that sight!
I wonder of th' uneasy birds awoke
As glowed that strange, great light
Which paled the purple east where morn-
ing broke.
And sang, inspired by God's own breath,
"There is no death! There is no death!" 

There is no death, O hearts that throb in

vain

With longing, pulsing tide,

Or in love's fullness, nigh akin to pain,

Unfearing abide;

There is no death, O soul whom niggard

fate

Has left unsatisfied.

The cycles swing and joy those lips await

Who oft have sung on earth in pain,

"I rise again! I rise again!"

No sacrifice, O Self, can blot thee out,

Or satisfy the debt

Which binds thee to the usurer of doubt

With interest of regret!

Still is not life to even thee denied:

One way remaineth yet-

As was thy Christ, must thou be crucified.

But with those wounds in hands and feet,

E'en Self finds resurrection sweet!

Rejoice, O soul whose work is just begun,

That all time lies before!

Rejoice, O heart whose treasure all have

won

That dimmer, farther shore!

The stone that angels moved away that

night

Was rolled from Heaven's door;

Awake and stand forth in hope's sudden

 light,

And sing as sang the birds that morn:

"There is no death, for Life is born!"

The Risen Life

        Easter is a season of joy and flowers-let it be also a time for spiritual awakening and the growth of faiths; it is a season when joyful chorals are sung on every hand - let it be also marked by generous charities and Christ-like ministries to those who now sit in the shadow of death, or who pine in the desserts of a religionless experience. Resurrection should not all of it be postponed until the last day - much of it may take place on earth in redeemed hearts and evangelized society. It should be remembered that the Lord is even now by his spirit converting hearts to the likeness of a higher life. Resurrection thus becomes a continual process, consummated at last in the skies, where it reaches the plane of a perfect life. The Lord, if we believe and are faithful, will perfect that which concerneth us. 

"Why Come Ye At Break of Morning?"

What Easter Owes to Good Friday

        I love Easter, with its tranquil certitude that death is vanquished. Easter! It is a brightness of the soul more beautiful than the brightness of the day, more evident than the sun. I would that I could carry into all hearts filled with shadow, veiled in mourning, a ray of that divine dawn.
       Why, then, do so many Christians fail to catch the vivifying secret of this royal day?
       It is because they do not know what Easter owes to Good Friday. The glory of Easter is not directly accessible to us. To conquer it we must pass through the "via dolorosa." Such is the meaning of the Scripture. Superficial man sees the spirit of God only in the miracle that reads the rock of the tomb into fragments, and he stretches out his hand to grasp the miracle; but his hand remains empty. The Christian soul throughout the ages is not thus deceived. It says, "From the Cross, the Crown."
       Thou tellest me, brother, that thou canst not believe in the Easter message. Thou dost not astonish me beyond measure. Didst thou see the Christ die? And those who, like Him, die for love of others? Hast thou felt the greatness of those vanquished for God, for justice? Hast thou wished to be able to die like them? If these things are unknown to thee, how canst thou discern the Easter message? Thou hast not the eyes to bear the light.

       The crucible of life is terrible. In our nights, in our dungeons, in our supreme struggles, show us not the Risen, but the Crucified One! It is from His dead eyes that the eternal dawn of Easter is kindled. To die as He died, to die with Him, is to spell the unknown Verb of the true life. There is no other school to liberate men from the hideous chains of all their slaveries, and from the most awful of all--their slavery to death. There is no other school that does this but the school of the Cross.

       If, then, thou wouldst bathe thy soul in the victorious brightness of Easter, know this: Easter is the supernatural daylight: Good Friday the night of anguish, from whose bosom the cry arises on the air, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?"

       But do not misapprehend -- this light comes from that night. There, in the thick darkness, opens the door into the "kingdom that cometh not with observation."

       It is Thou, O Christ! It is Thy spirit which is the Resurrection and the Life! Have pity upon us who are children in faith! Thou Who hast trod the dust of our earth! Thou Who hast passed through our twilights! Thou Who hast lain with us in the tomb, that the tomb might be less dark! Holy Victim of Calvary! Man of Sorrows! May our souls across our humble religious symbols be granted a glimpse of Thine ineffable grandeur.

       Come and tell us words of life, Thou Who art eternal! Sound the awakening in our torpor, in our lassitude! Sound the trumpet of morning through the night of our graves!

       And in this Easter time may all that is divine in us thrill and rise in holy insurrection against death and all its conspirators, and for life and all its alliances. Amen. by Charles Wagner.

 

 Sandi Patty sings "Via Dolorosa"

A nostalgic cross stitch by Helen Grant

       This design by Helen Grant includes: old-fashioned children (the boy with a hoop and girl with bonnet), birds, roses, peacocks, butterfly and cat. Find more patterns by her in the links below.

• The Crisscross Kids Cross Stitch
• Learn more about needlework samplers by young girls
• A Sampler from 1927 by Helen Grant 

        The text on this needle point pattern reads:

"My portion is not large indeed, 
But then how little do I need? 
For Nature's calls are few-
In this the art of living lies:
To want no more than my suffice,
And make that little do. 
wrought by "