Everything Is Spring

The sun of April has dawned, bearing warmth and light: the snows have stirred in their departing processions, and the roots lying in the belly of the earth have shifted in their dreams; then they stretched, and yawned, and set briskly to work to offer the world the ripest of its blossoms and the sweetest of its fruits.

The sun of April has dawned, and behold, the sky has put on its blue garments; behold, the sea is a blueness without limit; behold, the two of them, as though soothing the world after a revolt that lasted months, grow serene.

The sun of April has dawned, and the world has struck up its soft music after the din: the breeze whispers whispers of tenderness, and the birds, in the joy of warmth and well-being, sing.

...And hearts have their spring — not the day their blossoms open and they enjoy the passing pleasures of youth; the spring of hearts is the day true love touches them and turns them into an overflowing wellspring of purity; the day they rise higher and higher, until they can repeat with the poet-philosopher, "I ask of love no reward but the happiness of loving"; and the day they grow larger and larger, until they have room for the love of the near and the far, and shed their tenderness upon friend and non-friend alike, so that they can cry out with the Nazarene: "Love your neighbor as yourself."

And friendship has its spring — not the day it is built on passing foundations, nor the day personal advantage and mutual interest create it, but the day it is built on a spiritual understanding, on a love that knows no selfishness, an attraction with no trace of affectation in it; the day it is built slowly, slowly, stone laid upon stone with deliberation, so that when the building rises high, friendship's watchword is giving.

And hopes have their spring — not the day they are dreamed of, and dreamed, and then remain mere dreams which flagging wills fall short of fulfilling; their spring is the day they leap up in the breast, ambitious and insistent, refusing to have a single word struck from their book — nay, a single letter of its letters... and the day youth grows young: the youth of souls, not the youth of years.

Spring, in its youth, does not look back at yesterday with its stagnation and its snows; it fixes its gaze on tomorrow and works for it always.

And money has its spring — not the day it piles up and piles up.... Its spring is the day the honest piaster is joined to the honest piaster, to buy with them honest pleasure... the day the whisper reaches the depths, and behold, coffers are opened, orphanages are built, homes for the sick and the infirm are founded; the day a man opens his hand and another is made happy, and happy again, and then he stands looking at the results of his work with the smile of contentment on his lips; the day the coin turns into blossoms that perfume society and fruits that nourish it — and behold, spring appears in the fullness of its meaning.

And beauty has its spring — not the day youth is crowned with beauty of appearance and its harmony while the inside is neglected, so that the charm proves fleeting and the spell passes away; the spring of beauty is the day the inside is made beautiful and is reflected upon the outside — and behold, spiritual beauty is an enduring charm, and a spell the days have no power to efface.

Yes, spring has its beauty and its splendor; but the most perfect thing in life is its spring. Shall we not take care, then, that the spring of our hearts be warm and tender, the spring of our youth clean and pure, the spring of our hopes fulfilled and complete, the spring of our money beneficent and useful, and the spring of our beauty spiritual and lasting?
Shall we not take care to cleanse our spring of its thorns?...