BY HARRIET B. BRADBURY.

Spring is the resurrection time of the year. It is the awakening time of slumbering vitality. Through all Nature runs a thrill of life and hope-so strong, buoyant, and contagious that the dullest mind must feel it, and the heart most burdened with discouragement must experience at least a momentary release from its prison-house of suffering.

An Easter gladness is in all the air; the songs of the returning birds awake us in the morning; spicy odors from the sweet, low-growing flowers of spring are wafted upon every breeze; there is a changed quality in the atmosphere, through which the sky seems of a different blue and the rain to fall with a changed, a sweeter music. Everything proclaims of Nature that she is "not dead, but sleepeth." And how delightful it is to watch her awakening! First the new softness in the air; then the bursting buds on trees and shrubs; then the glimpses of green moss on old, weather-beaten trunks of trees; then greening grass; then flowers-until at last the full splendor of the spring-time bursts upon us, with its promise of luxuriant fruitage as the summer ripens into autumn and those tender blooms develop into the golden glories of fruit and grain.

All this is a symbol. Nature is full of symbolisms as soon as we have learned to see them; for all Nature is one, and that which takes place in one form upon one plane of being is repeated in the higher manifestations of the planes above. Is the awakening of the soul less beautiful or less rich in depth and variety of poetry than this quickening of vegetable life that fills our hearts with such delight? As far beyond the glories of the spring as the New Jerusalem is beyond comparison with any earthly city is the beauty of

that quickened soul-consciousness which constitutes the spiritual rebirth.

No creature below man can experience this change; no human being who has not known sin-yes, and shame and penitence and desperate soul-hunger-can know what it means to be born of water and of the Spirit. All must come to it at last-some time, somewhere; for without it, Christ says, we cannot see the kingdom of heaven. That kingdom is to be found within the soul; it is the recognition of our true relation to God. What is commonly known as "conversion" cannot always be this awakening; it is simply the first step in seeking the kingdom; it is the entering upon the Path; it is the turning in the right direction and beginning to learn. No one is to be blamed for not having gone further than that; for, if that first step be sincerely taken, the rest is sure to come as soon as one has become sufficiently developed.

The conditions and the manner of the New Birth cannot be strictly defined. It may come suddenly; it may come slowly; or the development may have been partial at one time and supplementary at another, making it impossible to analyze or mark off the stages, so that one can confidently say, "At this point I passed from death unto life." "The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh or whither it goeth: so is every one that is born of the Spirit." Paul speaks of the growth that precedes the perfect realization as the time "until Christ be formed in you"; and he declares his work for his converts to be the development of this Christ-consciousness within them. But we are not, therefore, to conclude that it is not to be attained in this life. Paul seems to have reached it in one sudden illumination, although it may be that his transformation was not so sudden as it seemed; for after his conversion he "conferred not with flesh and blood," but spent three years in waiting for further light before he joined the other disciples.

What, then, is the meaning of this New Birth of the soul,

and wherein is it different from any other change in the process of soul growth? To those who have experienced it, it is more easily understood than described. It is a transformation, a change in the point of view. The whole world-nay, the universe is transformed to us. Our own lives especially are transformed, so that we see all our experiences in their eternal and spiritual relations, and we ourselves become personally conscious of acquainted with—our God.

Acquainted with God! The phrase has a strange sound; yet most of us who come into this realization have to confess that we thought we knew Him long ago. We thought that what we had of communion with Him was all that we could expect on this side of the grave. We were seeking “a better country; that is, an heavenly," but we did not hope to find it until after we had passed the gates of death. We entirely misunderstood Christ's words; indeed, we felt that much of what he said was "mysterious," and we wondered sometimes whether the record was correct and he really did promise such rewards to those who should pray with faith, or whether it was all mere symbolism, referring to certain ill-defined spiritual experiences. Some of us even went so far as to doubt whether Christ himself was not a visionary enthusiast, and whether he ever really wrought the works of healing and the other wonders attributed to him. But all these doubts, which nip like frost the tender growths of love and faith, still leave humanity with a deep, unconquerable belief in God's goodness, and a deep, inexplicable love for Jesus the Christ. Inexplicable? Yes, until one learns to see that the root of it lies fixed in that intuitive perception of truth which enabled the heart to recognize that which the intellect flatly denied; i.e., that Christ has the words of eternal life, that the dead shall hear his voice and they that hear shall live. It is plain that he refers in that promise to those "dead in trespasses and sins," those ignorant of the truth he came to teach, but who, hearing his voice, respond at once and recognize their Master.

Where is this Lord of our life, that we might find him and receive the blessing which others tell us they have found-yes, which we can see by their changed lives that they have found? He is within our own souls, waiting to be recognized, knocking at the door; he is the divine nature within us. When we have found him, we have placed ourselves in harmony with the great current of universal progress; our wills have become consciously one with the Higher Will, and a share in the very power of God is given us. But this means the losing of self. Every one that clings to self is ignoring the Christ. The righteousness of self, as well as the sins of self, stands in his way. Everything that belongs to personal desire, personal pride, or personal satisfaction is a part of the hard shell that must some day be broken and cast aside, that the divine within it may come forth. Sometimes the life-germ slumbers long, and the outer shell seems beautiful and satisfactory; sometimes the shell seems to give room enough for considerable development within itself, and sometimes it breaks easily and falls away unnoticed. But occasionally we find the mighty power of a growing inner life racking and beating the outer until, with agonizing throes, the personal self is at last surrendered and the glad, free life of a new-born soul begins.

It matters little what the former life has been, from the point of view of mere propriety. The one question is, What preparation has it been making for the coming of its Lord? The outwardly righteous life may have in its very self-satisfaction the hardest possible difficulty to overcome. It is the consciousness of need that opens the soul to a recognition of the divine. Christ's offer is only to the hungry and thirsty. There must be this consciousness of the insufficiency of the personal self before it is possible for the Divine Self to be revealed in all its glory.

Say not, dear friend, "I cannot comprehend the New Birth, and therefore it cannot be a possible experience." Wait until the Lord of Life within you shall reveal the mystery, for as yet

the best of us know but in part and prophesy in part. Know only that when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. Await the revelations of the Spirit of Truth within you. Wait patiently, expectantly, in child-like trust, condemning no man, hoping ever, "waiting for the adoption, to wit, the redemption of our body." Channing has beautifully described this teachable, open-minded attitude in the following words: "To study hard, think quietly, talk gently, act frankly; to listen to stars and birds, to babes and sages, with open heart; to bear all cheerfully, do all bravely, await occasions, hurry never; in a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious, grow up through the common-this is to be my symphony."

LIFE'S DAY.

When over earth's fair face the dusky shadows creep,
The glow and color of an autumn day will linger
In leafy, luminous branches of some stately tree.
Only the strong and fine can hold the glory so;

Faint shades of weaker things are silenced in the gloom.
Thus is the spirit's story told in fading leaf.

If from life's day we gather from its wealth and glory,
When shadows of the passing life come surely on,

Through the dim unknown with light unquenched the Spirit

shines.

ANNA JOSEPHINE INGERSOLL.

GOODNESS is the life of harmony with the eternal conditions which spring from the being of God; and blessedness (the pure and perfect happiness) is the feeling of that harmony in the life. Only it is to be remembered always that the goodness, the life, is the thing for which to strive and pray; that the blessedness, the feeling, can only come to such as have forgotten to make search for it.-Richard A. Armstrong.