乡间春色(Country Spring)

One spring I went a walking tour in the country. It was a glorious spring. Not the sort of spring they give us in these miserable times, under this shameless government – a mixture of east wind, blizzard, snow, rain, slush, fog, frost, hail, sleet and thunder-storms – but a sunny, blue-skied, joyous spring, such as we used to have regularly every year when I was a young man, and things were different.

　　It exceptionally beautiful spring, for those golden days: and as I wanderwasedanthroughthewakingland,andsawtheevendawning of the coming green, and watched the blush upon the hawthorn hedge, deepening each day beneath the kisses of the sun, and looked up at the proud old mother trees, dandling their myriad baby buds upon their strong fond arms, holding them high for the soft west wind to caress as he passed laughing by, and marked the primrose yellow creep across the carpet of the woods, and saw the new flush of the field and saw the new light on the hills, and heard the new-found gladness of the birds, and heard form copse and farm and meadow the timid callings of the little new-born things, wondering to find themselves alive, and smelt the freshness of the earth, and felt the promise in the air, and felt a strong hand in the wind, my spirit rose within me. Spring had come to me also, and stirred me with a strange new life, with a strange new hope. I, too, was part of nature, and it was spring!

　　Tender leaves and blossoms were unfolding from my heart. Bright flowers of love and gratitude were opening round its roots. I felt new strength in all my limbs. New blood was pulsing through my veins. Nobler thoughts and nobler longings were throbbing through my brain. As I walked, Nature came and talked beside me, and showed me the world and myself, and the ways of God seemed clearer.

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