As the barren austerity of winter draws to a close, God’s magic wand moves across the face of nature and life stirs anew. The daffodils thrust up out of the frosted earth and open their yellow buds in the winds of March.
And man, encompassed by the colour and fragrance asks, – “Where is God?”
The golden array of delicate bloom, the radiance of a crocus field, the wallflower’s sweet perfume silently exult at the world’s release from the deathly grip of winter.
And man stands amid the rejoicing and asks, “Give me a sign.”
And as the symphony of colour spreads from his feed to cover the horizon, the birds sing the Te Deum and the bees hum from blossom to blossom in the warmth of the rising sun, this man, in all his wisdom, declares: “God is Dead.”
And God, in His heaven, looks on, pleading: “Hear, ye deaf, and look, ye blind, that ye may see.” |
