Voices of spring to listen to

The flowers and grass in this picture appeared where a week earlier there was just old, tired grass. It is thrilling to see and feel life springing into action. What is it saying to us?

Below is a poetic prose that I find stirs the heart and mind to a fresh outlook! by Mary Baker Eddy.

This snippet seems to prophesy the current trend of church and religion:

"Midst the falling leaves of old-time faiths, above the
frozen crust of creed and dogma, the divine Mind-force,
filling all space and having all power, upheaves the earth."

Listen and/or read as you like...

Audio - Voices of Spring  

Voices of Spring 

Mine is an obstinate penchant for nature in all her
moods and forms, a satisfaction with whatever is hers.
And what shall this be named, a weakness, or a —

In spring, nature like a thrifty housewife sets the earth
in order; and between taking up the white carpets and
putting down the green ones, her various apartments are
dismally dirty.

Spring is my sweetheart, whose voices are sad or glad,
even as the heart may be; restoring in memory the sweet
rhythm of unforgotten harmonies, or touching tenderly
its tearful tones.

Spring passes over mountain and meadow, waking up
the world; weaving the wavy grass, nursing the timid
spray, stirring the soft breeze; rippling all nature in
ceaseless flow, with "breath all odor and cheek all bloom."
Whatever else droops, spring is gay: her little feet trip
lightly on, turning up the daisies, paddling the water-
cresses, rocking the oriole's cradle; challenging the sed-
entary shadows to activity, and the streams to race for the
sea. Her dainty fingers put the fur cap on pussy-willow,
paint in pink the petals of arbutus, and sweep in soft
strains her Orphean lyre. "The voice of the turtle is
heard in our land." The snow-bird that tarried through
the storm, now chirps to the breeze; the cuckoo sounds
her invisible lute, calling the feathered tribe back to their
summer homes. Old robin, though stricken to the heart
with winter's snow, prophesies of fair earth and sunny
skies. The brooklet sings melting murmurs to merry
meadows; the leaves clap their hands, and the winds
make melody through dark pine groves.

What is the anthem of human life?

Has love ceased to moan over the new-made grave,
and, looking upward, does it patiently pray for the per-
petual springtide wherein no arrow wounds the dove?
Human hope and faith should join in nature's grand har-
mony, and, if on minor key, make music in the heart.
And man, more friendly, should call his race as gently
to the springtide of Christ's dear love. St. Paul wrote,
"Rejoice in the Lord always." And why not, since man's
possibilities are infinite, bliss is eternal, and the conscious-
ness thereof is here and now?

The alders bend over the streams to shake out their
tresses in the water-mirrors; let mortals bow before the
creator, and, looking through Love's transparency, behold
man in God's own image and likeness, arranging in the
beauty of holiness each budding thought. It is good to
talk with our past hours, and learn what report they
bear, and how they might have reported more spirit-
ual growth. With each returning year, higher joys,
holier aims, a purer peace and diviner energy, should
freshen the fragrance of being. Nature's first and last
lessons teach man to be kind, and even pride should
sanction what our natures need. Popularity, — what is
it? A mere mendicant that boasts and begs, and God
denies charity.

When gentle violet lifts its blue eye to heaven, and
crown imperial unveils its regal splendor to the sun;
when the modest grass, inhabiting the whole earth, stoops
meekly before the blast; when the patient corn waits
on the elements to put forth its slender blade, construct
the stalk, instruct the ear, and crown the full corn in the
ear, — then, are mortals looking up, waiting on God,
and committing their way unto Him who tosses earth's
mass of wonders into their hands? When downtrodden
like the grass, did it make them humble, loving, obedi-
ent, full of good odor, and cause them to wait patiently
on God for man's rich heritage, — "dominion over all
the earth"? Thus abiding in Truth, the warmth and
sunlight of prayer and praise and understanding will
ripen the fruits of Spirit, and goodness will have its spring-
tide of freedom and greatness.

When the white-winged dove feeds her callow brood,
nestles them under her wings, and, in tones tremulous
with tenderness, calls them to her breast, do mortals
remember their cradle hymns, and thank God for those
redemptive words from a mother's lips which taught
them the Lord's Prayer?

            O gentle presence, peace and joy and power;
            O Life divine, that owns each waiting hour;
            Thou Love that guards the nestling's faltering flight!
            Keep Thou my child on upward wing to-night.

Midst the falling leaves of old-time faiths, above the
frozen crust of creed and dogma, the divine Mind-force,
filling all space and having all power, upheaves the earth.
In sacred solitude divine Science evolved nature as thought,
and thought as things. This supreme potential Principle
reigns in the realm of the real, and is "God with us,"
the I AM.

As mortals awake from their dream of material sen-
sation, this adorable, all-inclusive God, and all earth's
hieroglyphics of Love, are understood; and infinite Mind
is seen kindling the stars, rolling the worlds, reflecting
all space and Life, — but not life in matter. Wisely
governing, informing the universe, this Mind is Truth, —
not laws of matter. Infinitely just, merciful, and wise,
this Mind is Love, — but not fallible love.

Spring is here! and doors that closed on Christian
Science in "the long winter of our discontent," are open
flung. Its seedtime has come to enrich earth and en-
robe man in righteousness; may its sober-suited autumn
follow with hues of heaven, ripened sheaves, and harvest