Extract from a Letter

Rixford, Pa., March 29, 1901.

Next month will bring to us dwellers of these dear hills of McKean, the sweet-scented, hope-inspiring, trailing arbutus,—nature's first floral herald of the Resurrection.

Even now it is struggling up from the cold earth, only to find, in most instances, that while it is above the ground, it still has a dark covering which separates it from the longed-for warmth and light. But it feels the warmth and knows that the sun is there, and knowing this, it is developing a cluster of flowerets for its crown. Thus lovingly, quietly, the little flower waits, in serene confidence and calm faith, understanding that the "Light is come," even though its presence may not yet be apparent until some kind hand removes the dead leaves to discover the pale but precious blossom, or until, by its own patient continuance, it is one day flushed with surprise and worthy exultation, to find that it has risen above the gloom cast by last year's faded foliage and escaped from earth's tomb.

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Poem
From Psalm Eighteenth
April 18, 1901
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