It's been a long cold Winter around most of the US. Even today, the first day of Spring, there is snow. For the people still living under the icy grip of Winter, it's hard to believe that Spring will ever replace the harsh realty of snow and slush.
The seasons of life can feel much the same way. Grief, illness, depression, can encase us in a winter-like grip that convinces us that newness of life is for everyone else, but not for us.
Take heart. Even the longest of Winters is momentary in light of eternity. Spring is coming.
The seasons of life can feel much the same way. Grief, illness, depression, can encase us in a winter-like grip that convinces us that newness of life is for everyone else, but not for us.
Take heart. Even the longest of Winters is momentary in light of eternity. Spring is coming.
"For momentary, light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison." 2 Corinthians 4:17
Thank You, Lord, for the promise of Spring.
Daffodils
(Written in 1804)
I WANDER'D lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
By William Wordsworth (1770-1850).
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
By William Wordsworth (1770-1850).
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