The Buds Opening in Heaven

Child with flower.

       Heaven is greatly made up of little children, sweet buds that have never blown, or which death has plucked from a mother's bosom to lay on his own cold breast, just when they were expanding, flower-like, from the sheath, and opening their engaging beauties in the budding time and spring of life. 'Of such is the kingdom of heaven.' How sweet these words by the cradle of a dying infant! They fall like balm drops on our bleeding heart, when we watch the ebbing of that young life, as wave after wave breaks feebler, and the sinking breath gets lower and lower, till with a gentle sigh, and a passing quiver of the lip, our child now leaves its body, lying like an angel asleep, and ascends to the beatitudes of heaven and the bosom of God. Indeed it may be, that God does with his heavenly garden, as we do with our gardens. He may chiefly stock it from nurseries, and select for transplanting what is yet in its young and tender age--flowers before they have bloomed, and trees ere they begin to bear. Rev Dr. Guthrie

"'Tis sweet to die! The flowers of earthly love,

(Fair, frail spring blossoms) early droop and die;

Upon our spirits evermore to lie

Fanny Forrester.

The Belfry Pigeon

 The Belfry Pigeon

by Nathaniel Parker Willis

On the cross-beam under the Old South bell

The nest of a pigeon is builded well

In summer and winter that bird is there,

Out and in with the morning air;

I love to see him track the street,

With his wary eye and active feet;

And I often watch him as he springs,

Circling the steeple with easy wings,

Till across the dial his shade has passed,

And the belfry edge is gained at last;

'Tis a bird I love, with its brooding note,

And the trembling throb in its mottled throat;

There's a human look in its swelling breast,

And the gentle curve of its lowly crest;

And I often stop with the fear I feel--

He runs so close to the rapid wheel.

Whatever is rung on that noisy bell--

Chime of the hour, or funeral knell--

The dove in the belfry must hear it well.

When the tongue swings out to the midnight

moon,

When the sexton cheerly rings for noon,

When the clock strikes clear at morning 

light,

When the child is waked with "nine at 

night,"

When the chimes play soft in the Sabbath air,

Filling the spirit with tones of prayer,--

Whatever tale in the bell is heard,

He broods on his folded feet unstirred,

Or, rising half in his rounded nest,

He takes the time to smooth his breast,

Then drops again, with filmed eyes,

And sleeps as the last vibration dies.

Sweet bird! I would that I could be

A hermit in the crowd like thee!

With wings to fly to wood and glen,

Thy lot, like mine, is cast with men;

And daily, with unwilling feet,

I tread, like thee, the crowded street, 

But, unlike me, when day is o'er,

Thou canst dismiss the world, and soar;

Or, at a half-felt wish for rest,

Canst smooth the feathers on thy breast,

And drop, forgetful, to thy nest.

I would that, in such wings of gold,

I could my weary heart unfold;

I would I could look down unmoved

(Unloving as I am unloved),

And while the world throngs on beneath,

Smooth down my cares and calmly breathe;

And never sad with others' sadness,

And never glad with others' gladness,

Listen, unstirred, to knell or chime,

And, lapped in quiet, bide my time.

The Hope of Immortality

        Such worshipers of the new are all made by the creative genius of our era, that in order to appreciate the old you must ask your imagination to picture them as coming up before you for the first time. With what tears of joy would you hail the hope of immortality had that hope just come into the world! If dust had been the assumed end of man, what discovery of science or art would compare in sublimity with the sudden assurance of a second and blessed life? Such an expectation dwarfs all the common hopes of this world. A Prince yearly approaching a throne, a gifted mind gathering up the honors of learning or power, a citizen drawing near a fabulous fortune, are all small scenes or outlooks compared with that of a humble child steadily moving toward an endless and painless being. When you remember how you all love life and feel sad over the fact that the grave is before you, you may well be amazed at the height and depth of the doctrine of a second existence that shall be in all ways higher and sweeter than this. The slowness with which this notion came to man has hidden its vastness. Its age is a witness for its truth, but is against its grandeur as a thought. It is modified by its antiquity as mountains are made treeless and cold by intervening miles. Their verdure, and cascades, and song of birds are all toned away from the senses by their distance. They are spoken of as "gray," or "hazy," or " blue." One simple attribute thus remains out of a marvelous richness and variety. From many old doctrines has the multitude moved away until ideas are seen in some one dead color - ideas vast as God and beautiful as Paradise.

       When love once fears that it may cease, it has already ceased. It is all the same to our hearts, whether the beloved one fades away or only his love. Prof. David Swing

"Immortal, Invisible" Hymn, 

This version by Tommy Walker Ministries

Thoughts In Sickness

"My mouth is filled with your praise, declaring your
splendor all day long." Psalms 71:8

Thoughts In Sickness

by Lord John Manners

I know not how it is, but man ne'er sees
The glory of this world, its streams, and trees,
Its thousand forms of beauty that delight
The soul, the sense, and captivate the sight
So long as laughing health vouchsafes to stay,
And charm the traveler on his joyous way.
No! man can ne'er appreciate this earth,
Which he has lived and joyed in from his birth,
Till pain or sickness from his sight removes
All that in health he valued not, yet loves.
Then, then it is he learns to feel the ties
Of earth and all its sweetest sympathies;
Then he begins to know how fair, how sweet,
Were all those flowers that bloomed beneath his
feet:
Then he confesses that before in vain,
The wild flowers flourished in the lonely plain: 
Then he remembers that the lark would sing,
Making the heavens with her music ring,
And he ungrateful never cared to hear
Those tuneful orisons at daybreak clear;
While all the glories that enrich this earth,
Crowd on the brain, and magnify its worth
Till truant fancy quits the couch of pain,
To rove in health's gay fields and woods again!
But when some pang his wandering sense recalls,
And chains the sufferer to his prison walls,
What to his anguish adds a sharper sting,
And plumes the feathers on affliction's wing?
W r hat but the thought that in his hour of health,
He slighted these, for glory, power, or wealth.
And, oh ! how trivial when compared to these,
Seem all those pleasures which are said to please!
At morn, when through the open lattice float
The hymns of praise from many a warbler's throat,
The sick man turns with pained and feverish start,
And groans in abject bitterness of heart.
Whence, say, ye vain ones, whence that soul-drawn
groan ?
Came it from anguish, or from pain alone?
Think ye, reflection was not busy there,
Borne on the sunbeam wafted by the air,
That speaks upbraiding, though its balmy voice
Whispers bright hopes, and bids his soul rejoice!
So feel I now, and should gay health once more
Glow in my frame, as it has glowed of yore,
Oh ! may I prove my thankfulness, and show
I feel the glory of all things below! 

Death The Gate of Life

        Oh! death!-dark hour to hopeless unbelief! hour to which, in that creed of despair, no hour shall succeed! being's last hour! to whose appalling darkness, even the shadows of an avenging retribution were brightness and relief-death! what art thou to the Christian's assurance? Great hour of answer to life's prayer-great hour that shall break asunder the bond of life's mystery-hour of release from life's burden‚-hour of reunion with the loved and lost-what mighty hopes, hasten to their fulfillment in thee! What longings, what aspirations-breathed in the still night, beneath the silent stars-what dread emotions of curiosity-what deep meditations of joy-what hallowed imaginings of never experienced purity and bliss-what possibilities shadowing forth unspeakable realities to the soul, all verge their consummation in thee! Oh! death! the Christian's death! what art thou but the gate of life, the portal of heaven, the threshold of eternity! Rev. Orville Dewey, D. D.

Instrumental "Hymn Of Heaven" 
from Worship Portal Plus

The Dead Are The Living

        I have seen one die - the delight of his friends, the pride of his kindred, the hope of his country: but he died! How beautiful was that offering upon the altar of death! The fire of genius kindled in his eye; the generous affections of youth mantled in his cheek; his foot was upon the threshold of life; his studies, bis preparations for honored and useful fife, were completed; his breast was filled with a thousand glowing, and noble, and never yet expressed aspirations; but he died! He died; while another, of a nature dull, coarse and unrefined, of habits low, base, and brutish, of a promise that had nothing in it but shame and misery - such an one, I say was suffered to encumber the earth. Could this be, if there were no other sphere for the gifted, the aspiring, and the approved, to act in? Can we believe that the energy just trained for action, the embryo thought just bursting into expression, the deep and earnest passion of a noble nature, just swelling into the expansion of every beautiful virtue, should never manifest its power, should never speak, should never unfold itself? Can we believe that all this should die; while meanness, corruption, sensuality, and every deformed and dishonored power should five? No, ye goodly and glorious ones ! ye godlike in youthful virtue! - ye die not in vain: ye teach, ye assure us, that ye are gone to some world of nobler life and action.

       I have seen one die; she was beautiful; and beautiful were the ministries of life that were given her to fulfill. Angelic loveliness enrobed her; and a grace as if it were caught from heaven, breathed in every tone, hallowed every affection, shone in every action - invested, as a halo, her whole existence, and made it a light and blessing, a charm and a vision of gladness, to all around her: but she died! Friendship, and love, parental fondness, and infant weakness, stretched out their hand to save her; but they could not save her: and she died! What! did all that loveliness die? Is there no land of the blessed and the lovely ones, for such to live in? Forbid it, reason, religion! - bereaved affection, and undying love! forbid the thought! It cannot be that such die in God's counsel, who live even in frail human memory, forever! Rev. Orville Dewey, D. D.

Death Is Life

        Then familiarize your mind with the inevitable event of death. Think of it, as life! Gloomy though the portal seems, death is the gate of life to a good and pious man. Think of it therefore, not as death, but as glory - going to heaven and to your father. Regard it in the same light as the good man who said when I expressed my sorrow to see him sinking into the grave, "I am going home." If you think of it as death, then let it be as the death of sin; the death of pain; the death of fear; the death of care; the death of Death. Regard its pangs and struggles as the battle that goes before victory; its troubles as the swell of the sea on heaven's happy shore; and yon gloomy passage as the cypress-shaded avenue that shall conduct your steps to heaven. It is life through Christ, and life in Christ; life most blissful, and life evermore, How much happier and holier we should be if we could look on death in that light. I have heard people say, that we should think each morning that we may be dead before night; and each night that we may be dead before morning! True: yet how much better to think every morning, I may be in heaven before night; and every night that the head is laid on the pillow, and the eyes are closed for sleep, to think, next time I open them it may be to look on Jesus, and the land where there is no night, nor morning; nor sunset, nor cloud; nor grave nor grief; nor sin, nor death, nor sorrow; nor toil, nor trouble; where "they rest from their labors, and their works do follow them." Rev. Dr. Guthrie.

Heaven Is Full of Children

Grandson and grandmother read
together.

        Think it, at least, highly probable, that where our Lord says, 'Suffer little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not for of such is the kingdom of heaven,' He does not only intimate the necessity of our becoming like little children in simplicity, as a qualification, without which (as he expressly declares in other places) we cannot enter into his kingdom, but informs us of a fact, that the number of infants, who are effectually redeemed unto God by His blood, so greatly exceeds the aggregate of adult believers, that, comparatively speaking, His kingdom may be said to consist of little children. As if the full import of what He had said to his disciples was, think not that little children are beneath my notice; think not that I am a stranger to little children; suffer them to come to me, and forbid them not. I have often been in their society; I love their society; the world from which I came, and to which I go, is full of little children.

"Flowers that once had loved to linger

In the world of human love,

Touch'd by death's decaying finger

For better life. above!

O! ye stars! ye rays of glory!

Gem-lights in the glittering dome!

Could ye not relate a story

Of the spirits gather'd home?" 

The Many Mansions

       As one of the many mansions is the destined future Heaven of the redeemed human race, the other numerous mansions must be other heavens, severally allotted to those armies of angels over all of whom, though each army be immediately subjected to its own special commander, the great archangel presides, and is thence congruously revealed as the Captain of the Host of Jehovah.
       But the particular mansion allotted to the redeemed human race, is this very planet of ours when the dissolved first earth shall have passed away so far as its present organization is concerned, and shall have been succeeded by a new earth framed out of the present dissipated materials.
       Hence, if our future heaven be one of the innumerable orbs which are all the handiwork of the Almighty Creator, analogy requires that the other heavens should be the other orbs: and thus we have a consistent explanation of the many mansions which our Lord declares to be in the House of His Heavenly Father. - by Farber

• Father's House - Many Mansions!
• What does the term "mansion" mean in John 14:2?
• What Does "Many Mansions" Really Mean?

"Many Mansions" sung by Moe Bandy

The Immortal Life

 The Immortal Life

The insect bursting from its tomb-like bed --
The grain that in a thousand grains revives --
The trees that seem in wintry torpor dead --
Yet each new year renewing their green lives;
All teach, without the added aid of Faith,
That life still triumphs o'er apparent death!

But dies the insect when the summer dies;
The grain hath perished, though the plant remain;
In death, at last, the oak of ages lies;
Here Reason halts, nor further can attain,
For Reason argues but from what she sees,
Nor traces to their goal these mysteries.
 

But Faith the dark hiatus can supply --

Teaching, eternal progress still shall reign:
Telling (as these things aid her to espy)
In higher worlds that higher laws obtain;
Pointing, with radiant finger raised on high,
From life that still revives, to life that cannot die.

 

The caterpillar transformed...

Journey To Heaven

        Our highest aspiration must wait. We are here to get through the world. Life is a road where we camp for a night on a journey to the golden gate and the setting sun; a traveler who sets up his tent at dark  does not plant corn or put out a grape-vine, if when the morning comes he expects to pull his tent down and march on. Men are born upon the shore of one ocean; by traveling lightly and never losing a moment, and marching bravely on, through forest, over desert, mountain and river, the traveler can  reach the other ocean in time to catch the little boat that slips out into the dark, and sails out of sight with God alone. But the traveler must not expect to plant harvests and grow vineyards while out upon his march. Yonder lie the happy hills of God. There no winter falls, there the summer sheds its warmth always upon the violet beds. There youth is perfect and beauty is eternal. There every ambition will be perfected, every dream realized; every hope turned to fruition, and the soul is a tree  waving its fruit and casting down its purple vintage at the feet of the God of the summer. - N. D. Hillis.

"Closer to Heaven" from Faithborne Journey

An Empty Nest: A Sonnet

An Empty Nest: A Sonnet

by Edwin Clarence Sprague

Deep in the forest dell I found a nest,

Empty and silent, swaying to and fro,

Rocked by the breezes that did gently blow,

Nor for a moment seemed to be at rest.

Wrecked was its structure by the brambles pressed;

Once 'twas the home wherein wee nestlings lie

Blinking with wonder at the summer sky,

Longing to soar upon its airy crest.

So may my soul be strengthened day by day,

And graced by patient waiting year by year,

That I might long to rise and soar away

When that last hour to me is drawing near

To that great realm, where in peace and rest, 

I'll leave-behind the old deserted nest.

 

Nest die cut.

The Voices of The Dead...

        The world is filled with the voices of the dead. They speak not from the public records of the great world only, but from the private history of our own experience. They speak to us in a thousand remembrances, in a thousand incidents, events, associations. They speak to us, not only from their silent graves, but from the throng of life. Though they are invisible, yet life is filled with their presence. They are with us, by the silent fireside and in the secluded chamber: they are with us in the paths of society, and in the crowded assembly of men. They speak to us from the lonely way-side, and they speak to us, from the venerable walls that echo to the steps of a multitude, and to the voice of prayer. Go where we will, the dead are with us. We live, we converse, with those, who once lived and conversed, with us. Their well remembered tone mingles with the whispering breezes, with the sound of the falling leaf, with the jubilee shout of the spring-time. The earth is filled with their shadowy train.

       But there are more substantial expressions of the presence of the dead with the living. The earth is filled with labors, the works, of the dead. Almost all the literature in the world, the discoveries of science, the glories of art, the ever-during temples, the dwelling-places of generations, the comforts and improvements of life, the languages, the maxims, the opinions, of the living, the very frame-work of society, the institutions of nations, the fabrics of empires‚ -all are the works of the dead; by these, they who are dead yet speak. Life-busy, eager, craving, importunate, absorbing life-yet what is its sphere,  compared with the empire of death! What, in other words, is the sphere of visible, compared with the mighty empire of invisible life! They live-they live indeed, whom we call dead. They live in our thoughts; they live in our blessings; they live in our life; -death hath no power over them." Rev. Orville Dewey, D. D.

"O LORD, You have brought up my soul from Sheol; You have kept my alive,
that I would not go down to the pit." Psalm 30:3

Death Overcome

        Where faith in Jesus raises a dying man above the sufferings of nature, and a sinful man above the terrors of guilt, illuminating the closing scene with the hopes and very light of approaching glory, this close of life is the grandest of sunsets. Nowhere, does religion look so magnificent as amid such scenes. And never does she seem so triumphant as when, with her fingers closing the filmy eyes, she contemplates the peaceful corpse; and bending down to take one fond kiss of pallid lips, or marble brow, rises, and raises her hands to heaven, exclaims, Blessed are the dead! The battle done; the victory won; rest, warrior! workman! pilgrim!-rest! "Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord; for they rest from their labors, and their works do follow them." Rev. Dr. Guthrie.

Posted by City Church San Francisco.

The Spirit Survives in It's Completeness

        Brethren, observe, that man's spirit cannot be resolved like his body into form and material, the former perishing while the latter survives. Man's spirit either exists in its completeness, or it ceases to exist. The bodily form of William the Conqueror has long dissolved into dust. The material atoms which made up the body of William the Conqueror during his lifetime exist somewhere now beneath the pavement of the great church at Caen; but if the memory and the conscience and the will of the Conqueror have perished, then his spirit has ceased to be. There is no substratum below or beyond these which could perpetuate existence; there is nothing spiritual to survive them, for the soul of man‚ your soul and mine‚ knows itself to be an indivisible whole - something which cannot be broken into parts, and enter into unison with other souls - with other minds. Each of us is himself. Each can become no other. My memory, my affections, my way of thinking and feeling are all my own; they are not transferable. If they perish they perish all together. There are no atoms to survive them which can be worked into another spiritual existence; and thus the extinction of an animal or a vegetable is only the extinction of that particular combination of matter - not of the matter itself; but the extinction of a soul, if the thing were possible, would be the total extinction of all that made it to be what it ever was. In the physical world, destruction and death are only changes. In the spiritual world, the only possible analogous process would mean annihilation. And, therefore, it is a reasonable and a very strong presumption that spirit is not, in fact, placed at this enormous disadvantage when compared with matter, and that, if matter survives the dissolution of organic forms, much more must spirit survive the dissolution of the material forms with which it has been for a while associated.

Passing of life . . . 

And this is life - to-day we here abide,
Perchance to-morrow we must step aside,
We master not our own; no vain regret
Can change the path for us which God has
set.
Then let our footsteps be toward the light,
With loving words and deeds make each day
bright.
Let charity progress to wider plan.
Lend gracious ear to creed of every man. 

S. D. Gardner.

"Good Morrow'' coloring page and poem

Description of Coloring Page: crocus frame and poem, text by Harriet Joor

"Awake!" the yellow Crocus Cries!
"Open wide your sleepy eyes!
For little Children, as for Flowers,
The Day unfolds it's shining Hours.
Awake to laugh - to work - to play -
Be good and glad the whole bright Day:
Then close your eyes up very tight
And sleep through all the cool dark night."

• Now paint your little eggs in many shades from blue to brown . . .
  

Don't forget to drag the png. or jpg into a Word Document and enlarge the image as much as possible before printing it folks. If you have a question about this coloring page, just type into the comment box located directly below this post and I'll try to get back to you as soon as I can.

Graceful Servants

 Graceful Servants by Betty Chapman Benhum

Knives and forks should always be
Well behaved for you and me.
Up on end they should not stand,
Nor go sailing in one's hand.
Knives are made to cut the meat,
Forks are meant to help one eat.
They are servants, bright and ready,
They'll obey if one is steady,
Always with  their peasant graces.
Always in their proper places.

When Easters Were Spent at Grandmother's House

        My grandmother's house on Easter Sunday was a wonderful place to be. It always seemed to us, her grandchildren, that the world began over again on that day. There was a newness and freshness about everything, from the first moment we opened our eyes to see our crisp, starched petticoats laid out, until the day was over and we put our Easter bonnets away in tissue paper.

The ''nest'' is symbolic for the home or a 
place of safe keeping.

       The details of her house and the way she lived in it are as clear today as they were 25 years ago. In all the years I have never found another home which seemed to emanate so many of the good things of life.

       By Easter Sunday the spring house cleaning was finished. And in New England that means that it was so well done that the place looked newborn. Window panes glistened, brass and copper shone, floors and woodwork were spic and span. On top of all this summer "dust covers" crackling with starch had been placed on every upholstered piece of furniture. Cross-bar dimity and ruffled marquisette bristled at every window with a cleanliness which was invigorating whether the sun shone or not.

       We arrived at the breakfast table in our Easter best. All of this had been laid out the night before, in perfect condition, for the start of church next day. Any one of us who had neglected to sew a button or mend a pocket on Saturday went to church unsewed and unmended, for grandmother's sewing basket went into the closet on Saturday evening and did not reappear until Monday for any emergency. The beautiful, well-planned order of it all is a happy memory after many years.

       We left the house, properly shod, coated and hatted, begloved and behankied, with a wonderful sense of well being. The older ones carried the Bibles they had acquired on previous Easters, the middle-sized ones would get theirs today, and the tiny ones would come home with a brightly blooming geranium, which meant they hadn't missed Sunday school all season. We came back to the house to find it full of wonderful odors. Returning to this house was always a joy. It was a refuge and peaceful haven always.

       On Easter afternoon, when grandmother had had her nap we all went for a walk. We called on the old ladies and gentlemen who were unable to get out in the sun for one reason or another. We brought sugar cookies which grandmother had made the day before, and tiny pots with three or four crocuses which she had started in the cellar months earlier. Year after year she went through the same rite. With 16 grandchildren it was never necessary that she make her Easter parade alone, for as the older ones became too self-conscious with this old-fashioned nonsense, the little ones were enchanted to be permitted to go.

       This type of home, all the activities which went on in it and the good things which came from it, we now understand better than ever. Simple, unassuming and well ordered, based on the fundamental needs of ordinary people, it has come into its own once again.  by Emily Post

• Tiffany O'Brien, The MOST Enthusiastic Homemaker
• How Do I? Talking about Etiquette, 19th Edition

Build a March Hare Toy for A Tot

 THE MARCH HARE by Harold Evans Kellogg

       The figure of the hare, the baseboard, and the wheels are made of half-inch box lumber. It will be necessary for woodworkers to enlarge the elements to scale using either a software program or graph paper before cutting templates.
       With a pencil mark around the figure of the hare, then cut it out with a scroll saw. Be sure to leave the piece of board between the under side of the hare and the straight line.
       The baseboard is 6 1/2 inches long and 3 inches wide. Mark it out with a ruler and a try-square and cut it out with an ordinary saw.
       Make the two wheels by marking with a pencil around a tea cup and then sawing them out with a scroll saw.
       The handle is made of soft wood. It is 3/8 inch square and 16 inches long. A portion 3 inch deep and 2 inches long is cut from one end, as shown in the diagram. The four edges of the handle may be planed, or filed partly round if desired. All pieces should be filed and sandpapered before they are joined.
       Attach the handle and the figure of the hare to the baseboard from the under side, using either small nails or screws. Make a hole about 1/8th inch in diameter in the exact center of each wheel, using either a drill. Then attach the wheels to the baseboard with large-headed nails or screws, leaving them just loose enough to turn easily.
       To decorate the toy you will need a tube of white and a tube of black oil paint, some turpentine to thin the paint, and two small brushes. Paint the handle, the wheels, and the figure of the hare white. Allow the paint to dry for one day. Then apply another coat of white paint to the same portions, and allow it to dry for a day.
       Using a piece of carbon paper, transfer to the figure of the hare the lines representing the ears, eyes, feet, and other markings. With a fine-pointed brush go over these lines very carefully, using the black oil
paint. Now apply the black paint to the baseboard and to the portion between the baseboard and the under part of the hare. Wee Wisdom, 1926

More March Hares:

• All About Cottontail Rabbits
• The White Rabbits by Edith Campbell
• Craft a Rabbit Ring Toss Game

Froggy

Froggy by F. E. Valetta

Every froggy every spring,

Every eve must shrilly sing;

Froggy, froggy, chirp your 

fill.

We'll all listen - sure we

will.

Froggy, froggy, don't you

know,

Old Jack Frost will nip a toe

If you don't keep in your

nose

While old Jackie's north

wind blows?

Froggy, froggy, bide a wee,

Till greening sward and 

budding tree

And April's warm, life-giving

rain

Make your coming safe 

again.

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 "

Pussy Willow Poem

Illustrated "Pussy Willows" by Cora M V Preble.

The little pussy willows
Upon the small, brown trees
Lie sleeping in their cradles,
Arocking in the breeze.

And every pussy willow,
So fat and round and small,
Is dreaming in the sunshine,
And curled up in a ball.

Such funny little fellows
In fuzzy coats of fur-
I wonder, if I stroked them,
Would pussy willows purr?

An Easter Significance

The Burial Procession from Christian Clip Art Review.

 

        "This is one of the Easter significances of death, that through it, God is transferring our affections, our longings, our hopes, our plans, from earth to heaven-from the testing-place to the dwelling place, from the dark valley of preparation to the shining lights of eternal realization. He weans us over, as it were, from earth to heaven, by taking our loved ones to himself, and leading after them our hearts' desires and our sanctified imaginations and hopes. All the beauties and glories of the apocalyptic vision might make no appeal to us, satisfied as we are with this earth where our loved ones dwell, if God did not endear to us the city which is to be our eternal home by calling some of our cherished ones to dwell there. Then immediately our longings to go out to it, we dream of it, we live so as to be more fit for it." author unknown.

Dani and Lizzy sing "Dancing In The Sky"

"Consider The Lilies" by Ethel Halton

Iris die cut.

Consider The Lilies

Within the rich man's garden
Full many a flower was seen,
With crowns of gold and crimson
On cups of emerald green. 

 

They brought the dead King thither,
And every flower in bloom
Bowed down its head in sorrow
About the Savior's tomb.

 

But see- the white-winged angels
Have rolled the stone away,
And 'mid the flowers only
The white grave cerements lay.

Next day they sought to find them;

Lo! rising where they fell,

Like the white hand of an angel,

Waved there - a lily's bell.

 

So pure, so white, and spotless

It pointed in the air,

As if to tell new comers

That He had risen there.

 

Born of His white robes fallen,

Like white leaves folded up,

They found a scepter gold and small

Within each fragrant cup.

 

And so amid the blossoms

Of the rich man's fragrant bowers

Was born the Easter lily-

The angel of the flowers.

The Resurrection of Christ

 THE RESURRECTION OF CHRIST.
RT. REV. SAMUEL FALLOWS, D. D.

       TAKE clear the fact of the resurrection of Christ, it will be a fact that chimes with humanity’s unutterable longings, and fits in as the key-stone of the radiant arch of its hopes. Make clear that fact, and then, as the meridian sun brings out in all their boldness the mountains, and in all their beauty, the swarded valleys faintly described in the dim twilight, so will a risen Sun of righteousness bring out these hints, and truths, and ideas, in controlling power over the intellect, and influence over the practical life. Make clear that fact, and one simple-minded Christian believer, full of resurrection power, shall chase a thousand carping rationalists, and two shall put ten thousand to flight. Our faith in God, asks of God—a risen Redeemer.
       St. Paul claims, if Christ be not risen, faith in Him is vain. So interwoven with the very life, and teachings, and death of Christ was the truth of His resurrection, that to deny the latter would be to destroy, root and branch, all faith in Him as Teacher and Savior. He had said, “ Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it again.” After the surpassing glory of the transfiguration, he had commanded, “ Tell the vision to no man until the Son of man be risen from the dead.”
       He must either have been unconsciously deceived, and then he would have shown himself a weak, erring man, and no longer entitled to the claim of a teacher sent from God; or he must have been a willful impostor, and thus have sunk in the mire trodden beneath the feet of indignant, deluded men. If Christ be not risen, your faith is vain; your faith in Him as a Savior is vain. Your Christian consciousness is a nullity, and a He. There has been no atonement Ye are yet in your sins. Life, death, resurrection, all enter into the redeeming work of Christ He was “delivered for our offenses, and raised again for our justification.” “If thou shalt confess with thy mouth, the Lord Jesus, and believe in thine heart that God raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved.” No resurrection, no salvation.
       He asserts of the apostles: “We are found false witnesses.” We, who were fully competent by reason of our numbers, to be believed, for there were the eleven apostles, the two Marys, Cleopas the most of the seventy, and five hundred others beside. Nearly all were living, and ready to testify. Fully competent, as to our powers of judgment and varied experience; fully competent, from the opportunities we have enjoyed of knowing the facts to which we bear witness. We have been with the Savior; we have known him intimately; we have treasured up His words. His image is stamped upon our hearts; we beheld His miracles; we knew he was crucified; we went to the tomb, expecting to find the body there; we saw Him alive again; we saw His pierced hands and wounded side; we heard the familiar voice; we received our high commission; we saw Him ascend into glory.
       We have gained nothing, from an earthly standpoint, but loss of home, of friends, of reputation. We are made the filth and off scouring of the world. We are made a spectacle unto angels and to men. Stripes, bonds, imprisonment are before us. The headsman’s axe glitters in the sun. “To the Hons, to the Hons!” rings in our ears. Covered with pitch, and set on fire, we shall light the streets of Rome by midnight! If in this hope only, we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable.
       How the apostle, with jubilant utterance, turns away from the loathsome impossibility he has presented.
       “Now is Christ risen from the dead and become the first fruits of them that slept.” The irrefutable fact stands forth in all its glorious majesty and infinite sweep of meaning.
       The Gospel records must be torn to tatters, and scattered with the rent sybilline leaves, never more to be gathered. The whole colossal fabric of Christianity must have been built upon an abyss. The head and founder of the Church must have been created by the Church. A man must have been the father of his own ancestors, before this fact can be successfully denied.
       Christ is risen from the dead. His own words have been justified. Christ is risen from the dead, and God has given the seal and sign manual to his Messianic mission. He has declared Him to be the Son of God, with power. Christ is risen from the dead, and an unsetting sun—the new and unfailing center of attraction—has burst forth in glory from the darkness of the tomb. Christ is risen, and we, too, shall rise. Every charnel house is robbed of its terrors. The sting has been plucked from death, and the grave been robbed of its victory. The darkness has forever passed. It is morning.
       In that beautiful city of the dead, Greenwood cemetery, where the precious dust of so many loved ones reposes—that city, on its eminence, graced with flowers, fit resurrection—emblems of life and  loveliness springing from decay, and melodious with the music of birds—that city, overlooking the city of the living below it, and the river and the sea beyond it, contains here and there a broken pedestal, which speaks of plans unrealized, and expectations unfulfilled; of aspirations unsatisfied, and ends unachieved. But on some of them is a hand pointing upward. A risen Christ is the inspiration of the  thought. The upward pointing is the mute and eloquent suggestion, that on the plains of the New Jerusalem, the column of life shall be erected.
       A limited sphere here, a boundless amphitheatre there. Seeming failure here, assured success there. Dead hopes here, living realizations there. Bafflings, disappointments here; unimpeded progress them Home there, rewards there, friends there, Jesus there. Can we doubt the life beyond? “Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye steadfast, unmovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that your labor is not in vain, in the Lord.”

The Dead Are The Living

In loving memory.

        I have seen one die-the delight of his friends, the pride of his kindred, the hope of his country: but he died! How beautiful was that offering upon the altar of death! The fire of genius kindled in his eye; the generous affections of youth mantled in his cheek; his foot was upon the threshold of life; his studies, his preparations for honored and useful life, were completed; his breast was filled with a thousand glowing, and noble, and never yet expressed aspirations; but he died! He died; while another, of a nature dull, coarse and unrefined, of habits low, base, and brutish, of a promise that had nothing in it but shame and misery-such an one, I say was suffered to encumber the earth. Could this be, if there were no other sphere for the gifted, the aspiring, and the approved, to act in? Can we believe that the energy just trained for action, the embryo thought just bursting into expression, the deep and earnest passion of a noble nature, just swelling into the expansion of every beautiful virtue, should never manifest its power, should never speak, should never unfold itself? Can we believe that all this should die; while meanness, corruption, sensuality, and every deformed and dishonored power should live? No, ye goodly and glorious ones! ye godlike in youthful virtue!-ye die not in vain: ye teach, ye assure us, that ye are gone to some world of nobler life and action.
       I have seen one die; she was beautiful; and beautiful were the ministries of life that were given her to fulfill. Angelic loveliness enrobed her; and a grace as if it were caught from heaven, breathed in every tone, hallowed every affection, shone in every action-invested, as a halo, her whole existence, and made it a light and blessing, a charm and a vision of gladness, to all around her: but she died! Friendship, and love, parental fondness, and infant weakness, stretched out their hand to save her; but they could not save her: and she died! What! did all that loveliness die? Is there no land of the blessed and the lovely ones, for such to live in? Forbid it, reason, religion!-bereaved affection, and undying love! forbid the thought! It cannot be that such die in God's counsel, who live even in frail human memory, forever!  Rev. Orville Dewey, D. D

Life is For Character, and Character For Immortality

"And endurance produces character, and 
character produces hope... Romans 5:4

 LIFE IS FOR CHARACTER, AND CHARACTER FOR IMMORTALITY.
CARDINAL J. H. NEWMAN.

      WHAT is our life for? There can be but one answer. This world is a training-school for character; as a pleasure-garden or a workshop it is a failure. Its flowers fade, its beauties pall, its work is never done, and is often broken off in the midst, or at the very beginning. There must be some better vindication of the Creator. It is this: The world is a school-house for man, for the whole of man. He has numerous faculties and powers; none can be left out. He has body, intellect, sensibilities, will. Are these all of man? Has he no conscience, no religious aspiration, no "longing after immortality?" Philosophy must include all the facts. Any view of life which debars from the fullest culture any part of our complex nature is essentially defective, and any view which omits the highest part is practically false.

      This last indictment will be found to stand against the scheme of culture drawn out in the eloquent words of Mr. Huxley: ''That man, I think, has had a liberal education who has been so trained in youth that his body is the ready servant of his will, and does with ease and pleasure all the work that as a mechanism it is capable of; whose intellect is a clear, cold, logic engine, with all its parts of equal strength and in smooth working order-ready, like a steam-engine, to be turned to any kind of work, and spin the gossamers as well as forge the anchors of the mind; whose mind is stored with the great and fundamental truths of Nature, and of the laws of her operations; one who, no stunted ascetic, is full of life and fire, but whose passions are trained to come to heel by a vigorous will, the servant of a tender conscience; who has learned to love all beauty, whether of nature or art, to hate all vileness, and to respect others as himself.'' Lovely picture of a culture radically defective; and in this defective form absolutely impossible, for lack of the divine element. No man ever yet trained ''a vigorous will, the servant of a tender conscience,'' and learned ''to hate all vileness and to respect others as himself,'' save under the searching eye of God, and by the transforming energy and abiding inspiration of the Holy Ghost.

      There is painful proof that many professing Christians have no better notions of the possibilities of noble culture which every day affords than are indicated in our quotation from Mr. Huxley. They prize not the moments as gold dust, and are often laboriously occupied in 'killing time.' A competent authority declares the end of life to be to ''seek for glory, honor, and immortality:'' the glory of a true, symmetrical, godly character; the honor such a character is sure to win, and the immortality to which it leads.

Man, Body, Soul and Spirit

 MAN, BODY, SOUL AND SPIRIT.
REV. F. W. ROBERTSON

       The apostle Paul divides human nature into a three-fold divisions. This language of the apostle, when rendered into English, shows no difference whatever between ''soul'' and ''spirit.'' We say for instance, that the soul of man has departed from him. We also say that the spirit of a man has departed from him. There is no distinct difference between the two; but in the original two very different kinds of thoughts, two very different modes of conception, are presented by the two English words ''soul'' and ''spirit.'' When the apostle speaks of the body, what he means is the animal life- that which we share in common with beasts, birds, and reptiles; for our life, our sensational existence, differs but little from that of the lower animals. There is the same external form, -the same material in the blood vessels, in the nerves, and in the muscular system. Nay, more than that, our appetites and instincts are alike, our lower pleasures like their lower pleasures, our lower pain like their lower pain; our life is supported by the same means, and our animal functions are almost indistinguishably the same.
       But, once more, the apostle speaks of what he calls the ''soul.'' What the apostle meant by what is translated ''soul‚'' is the immortal part of man-the immaterial as distinguished from the material; those powers, in fact, which man has by nature-powers natural, which are yet to survive the grave. There is a distinction made in Scripture by our Lord between these two things. ''Fear not,'' says He, ''them who can kill the body; but rather fear Him who can destroy both body and soul in hell.''
       We have, again, to observe, respecting this, that what the apostle called the ''soul‚'' is not simply distinguishable from the body, but also from the spirit. By the soul the apostle means our powers natural- the powers which we have by nature. Herein is the soul distinguishable from the spirit. In the Epistle to the Corinthians we read, ''But the natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God: for they are foolishness unto him; neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned. But he that is spiritual judgeth all things.'' Observe, there is a distinction drawn between the natural man and the spiritual. What is there translated ''natural‚'' is derived from precisely the same word as that which is here translated ''soul.'' So that we may read, just as correctly, ''The man under the dominion of the soul receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God; for they are foolishness unto him; neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned. But he that is spiritual judgeth all things.'' And again, the apostle, in the same Epistle to the Corinthians, writes: ''That is not first which is spiritual, but that which is natural;'' that is, the endowments of the soul precede the endowments of the spirit. You have the same truth in other places. The powers that belong to the spirit were not the first developed; but the powers which belong to the soul, that is, the power of nature. Again, in the same chapter, reference is made to the natural and spiritual body. ''There is a natural body, and there is a spiritual body.'' Literally, there is a body governed by the soul, that is, powers natural; and there is a body governed by the Spirit, that is, higher nature. Let, then, this be borne in mind, that what the apostle calls ''soul'' is the same as that which he calls, in another place, the ''natural man.'' These powers are divisible into two branches-the intellectual powers and the moral sense. The intellectual powers man has by nature. Man need not be regenerated in order to possess the power of reasoning, or in order to invent. The intellectual powers belong to what the apostle calls the ''soul.'' The moral sense distinguishes between right and wrong. The apostle tells us, in the Epistle to the Romans, that the heathen-manifestly natural men-had the law ''work of the written in their hearts; their conscience also bearing witness.''
       The third division of which the apostle speaks he calls the ''spirit;'' and by the spirit he means that life in man which, in his natural state, is in such an embryo condition that it can scarcely be said to exist at all,-that which is called out into power and vitality by regeneration, the perfections of the powers of human nature. And you will observe that it is not merely the instinctive life, nor the intellectual life, nor the moral life, but it is principally our nobler affections,-that existence, that state of being, which we call love. That is the department of human nature which the apostle calls the spirit; and accordingly, when the Spirit of God was given on the day of Pentecost, you will remember that another power of man was called out, differing from what he was before. That Spirit granted on the day of Pentecost did subordinate to Himself, and was intended to subordinate to Himself, the will, the understanding, and the affection of man; but you often find these spiritual powers were distinguished from the natural powers, and existed without them. So, in the highest state of religious life, we are told, men prayed in the spirit. Till the spirit has subordinated the understanding, the gift of God is not complete‚-has not done its work. It is abundantly evident that a new life was called out. It was not merely the sharpening of the intellectual powers; it was calling out powers of aspiration and love to God; those affections which have in them something boundless,-that are not limited to this earth, but seek their completion in the mind of God Himself

"Where The Spirit Of The Lord Is" from Life.Church

How to crochet a cross bookmark...

        I received this crocheted cross many years ago as a gift. It was made by an elderly lady who was bedridden near the end of her life. She could pray, sleep, eat a little and crochet. If you would like to learn how to make one just like it or similar... follow the links below to several crafters at YouTube.

"His Name Is Jesus" from my Bible Art Journal online here.

 

Where to Learn How to Crochet Crosses and Other Bookmarks:

• Crochet Cross Bookmark Tutorial from Pora Pora Crochet
  
• How to crochet the simply daisy bookmark pattern from This Pixie Creates
• Granny Square Crochet from Rich Textures Crochet
• Chatherine Wheel Bookmark Crochet Pattern from Rich Textures Crochet and Making Waves

Earth's Easter (MCMXVI)

"Behold The Lamb"

EARTH'S EASTER (MCMXVI)
BY ROBERT HAVEN SCHAUFFLER

Earth has gone up from its Gethsemane,
And now on Golgotha is crucified;
The spear is twisted in the tortured side;
The thorny crown still works its cruelty.
Hark! while the victim suffers on the tree,
There sound through starry spaces, far and wide,
Such words as by poor souls in hell are cried:
"My God! my God! Thou hast forsaken me!"

But when Earth's members from the cross are drawn.
And all we love into the grave is gone.
This hope shall be a spark within the gloom:
That, in the glow of some stupendous dawn.
We may go forth to find, where lilies bloom,
Two angels bright before an empty tomb.

Easter Day by John Keble

"Faith At The Cross"

 

EASTER DAY 
BY JOHN KEBLE

O Day of days! shall hearts set free.
No "minstrel rapture" find for thee?
Thou art the Sun of other days.
They shine by giving back thy rays:

Enthroned in thy sovereign sphere
Thou shed'st thy light on all the year:
Sundays by thee more glorious break,
An Easter Day in every week:

And week days, following in their train,
The fullness of thy blessing gain.
Till all, both resting and employ,
Be one Lord's day of holy joy.

Then wake, my soul, to high desires.
And earlier light thine altar fires:
The world some hours is on her way.
Nor thinks on thee, thou blessed day:

Or, if she thinks, it is in scorn:
The vernal light of Easter morn
To her dark gaze no brighter seems
Than Reason's or the Law's pale beams.

" Where is your Lord? " she scornful asks
"Where is his hire? we know his tasks;
Sons of a King ye boast to be:
Let us your crowns and treasures see."

We in the words of truth reply
(An angel brought them from the sky),
" Our crown, our treasure is not here,
'Tis stored above the highest sphere:

" Methinks your wisdom guides amiss,
To seek on earth a Christian's bliss;
We watch not now the lifeless stone:
Our only Lord is risen and gone."

Yet even the lifeless stone is dear
For thoughts of him who late lay here;
And the base world, now Christ hath died,
Ennobled is and glorified.

No more a charnel-house, to fence
The relics of lost innocence,
A vault of ruin and decay —
The imprisoning stone is rolled away.

'Tis now a cell where angels use
To come and go with heavenly news.
And in the ears of mourners say,
" Come, see the place where Jesus lay ":

'Tis now a fane, where love can find
Christ everywhere embalmed and shrined:
Aye gathering up memorials sweet
Where'er she sets her duteous feet.

Oh, joy to Mary first allowed.
When roused from weeping o'er his shroud,
By his own calm, soul-soothing tone,
Breathing her name, as still his own !

Joy to the faithful Three renewed.
As their glad errand they pursued!
Happy, who so Christ's word convey.
That he may meet them on their way!

So is it still: to holy tears,
In lonely hours, Christ risen appears;
In social hours, who would Christ see
Must turn all tasks to charity.