[Arnold Hodgkinson, in the National Motorist, San Francisco, California]

House-cleaning time is with us again. Out of doors every nature is very busy putting her finishing touches to the general work of cleaning up preparatory to coming out in her new spring dress of green leaf and budding flower. The snow and the rain of the winter have united to wash the face of all nature, while the wind, in increased velocity, continues to search out and remove the dead limbs and the remainder of last year's leaves from the trees to make room for the new. . . .

After this "shaking up" and "shaking down" which the wind gives to nature at least once a year, we remark upon the lightness, the freshness, and the cleanness of the atmosphere and upon the exhilaration and buoyancy we feel as a consequence. We emerge from the close confinement and crampiness of the winter; we take a long full breath of fresh air, and immediately we experience a feeling of new courage and vigor. . . .

With all nature garbed in a new dress and with our abodes bright and attractive, may we not with profit look a little further to determine whether or not there are personal cobwebs interfering with our mental, moral, or spiritual outlook and tending to cloud the horizon for us in any way? A cobweb is a clinging, tenacious thing, and not always easy to eradicate, but an honest attempt to free ourselves from its meshes is a worth-while effort, returning real dividends in genuine pleasure, satisfaction, and comfort.

There are cobwebs of doubt, distrust, jealousy, and envy, any one of which, if given a resting place in our make-up, is sufficient to give us much unhappiness; but if, with spring's advent, we will subject our personalities, as we do our homes, to a thorough overhauling, discarding all unworthy ambitions, thoughts, and attitudes toward life in general and our fellows in particular; if we will brush the cobwebs of fear, prejudice, uncertainty, and selfishness aside and give our better nature a chance to drink its fill at the fountain of hopeful expectancy, we shall ere long reach that land of heart's desire—a good conscience—in the knowledge of duty well done.

[Bishop Berry, as quoted in the Binghamton Sun, New York]

The birds came very early to our town last spring. It is a sunny place, and there are many trees and shrubs.

A song floated in one morning from a leafless tree out on the lawn. A robin sang the song. You do not care for the robin's song, did you say? Well, never mind.

I said "Mr. Robin, I cannot see what you can find to sing about." For there was no green in the lawn. The trees were bare. The shrubs showed no signs of life. The winds blew coldly. The ice was still in our rivers. But robin kept on singing. I could see nothing and feel nothing to inspire his song. Neither could he.

But the robin knew what he was about. He was anticipating the warm and fragrant springtime, and he was singing his cordial greetings. He was paying in advance. He knew that in just a few days the south wind would blow, the sun would bathe the earth with his warmth, the trees would be covered with leaves, the lawns would be carpeted with green, and the fragrance of lilacs and honeysuckles and roses would fill the gardens.

Spring came. The robin knew it would. . . .

My friends, do you find it a bit chilly just now? Do the winds blow harshly? Does the sky look stormy and dark?

The springtime of business prosperity, or of good health, or of inward peace seems to be long delayed. Your mood is one of impatience and discouragement. Your life has been so hard. The road has been so rough. High hopes have so often been dashed to the earth. You are longing for the coming of springtime—for something to change the drab routine of your life. But alas! it is winter still. Therefore, there is no song in your heart.

See here! Suppose springtime seems long in coming, it is sure to come. Sing as the robin sang. Sing because the warmth and fruitfulness of summer are on the way. Sing in anticipation of what is sure to be. Faith reaches further than sight.

Believe in what you cannot yet see. Tune your soul to the hallelujah chorus of the skies! There is a heaven side as well as an earth side to all life's experiences. Look on the heaven side. "For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory."

[Rev. Samuel A. Eliot, D. D., in the Boston Herald, Massachusetts]

What we need in order to lay hold of eternal life is a new sense of the reality and greatness of God. The fountain of life never runs dry. It issues into a river of living water that never dwindles or disappears. We are borne along on that buoyant stream. We are a part of an abundant life which is no mere continuity of years but a unity with the eternal source of being, forever replenished from exhaustless fountains.

[Mrs. Joy E. R. Zint, in the Denver Post, Colorado]

At the present time both pulpit and press are voicing the need of a real religious revivial. A real revival! Significant words.

Our dictionary defines a revival as "a renewing, an awakening." A mere stirring up of human emotions often results in a reaction unfavorable to permanent spiritual growth.

A real revival will awaken a sense of reliability and of responsibility; on no other basis could it be permanent. But most of us have yet to learn that this "reliability" is really learning to rely on God's ability, and this "responsibility" restores the right to respond to God's ability.

When we see the human endeavor to find satisfaction through the human senses, and note the utter futility of such gratifications, then the aspiration of the human heart, like the phœnix of old, springs upward as a result of this purifying process, and a real revival begins in the consciousness of mortals.

Service through love is the fulfillment of the Master's injunction, "If ye love me, keep my commandments." Surely the service here admonished is no mere form or ritual; no cold abstraction, . . . but a compassion so complete, a love so loyal and spontaneous, that it blossoms into deeds of kindness and helpfulness as naturally as the wild rose responds to dew and sunshine.

As the changing seasons bring sweet renewals in nature, so the thought imbued with love for God will experience renewals of faith and trust in the amplitude of divine Love; will discover wellsprings of joy through the consciousness of an all-loving, all-powerful, all-wise creator.

This "renewing of your mind" is the result of prayer—earnest, heartfelt prayer; not of necessity audible, but of prayer preferably too deep for words; not confined to supplication, for God already knows our needs.

The real awakening—this second birth to which the Master, Christ Jesus, referred when Nicodemus came by night in questioning mood—begins in the thought which is seeking the light and is learning love, a love which finds expression in deeds of kindness and unselfish service, which wins its way to the heart of Christ through humility and sincerity.

[Editorial in the New Outlook, Toronto, Ontario, Canada]

How often have we found ourselves as spring ripened into summer a little anxious and eager lest we should miss something of the great revelation of beauty and perfect loveliness . . . in this fair land of ours. For to miss any of it would seem to be so utterly dull and stupid and cloddish, so altogether unpardonable. . . .

We go into the silence of the great woods, and a sense of awe comes upon us that is almost oppressive. Shall we try to explain it by saying that it is altogether a sensuous experience? The explanation somehow does not seem to be big enough. The only explanation that would seem to cover the ground would be that God in that great dim silence was trying to speak a word unto our soul. The sighing of the wind fills us with restlessness and longing because the great divine Spirit would give to us through it some call to finer and to better things. The quiet rain of a summer's night fills our souls with a great peace. . . .

We so often complain that the great maker and ruler of the universe and the Father of the spirits of the children of men does not speak oftener and in plainer words to the blundering and ignorant creatures who find it so hard to understand; but is it not plain that the matchless beauty of the world, as we look upon it to-day,—the rushing of the wind, the shining of the stars, the fragrance of the flowers, the singing of the birds, the silence of the great sea,—all represent His yearning effort to say things to you and to me? Nature did not need to be . . . as it is, . . . such a bewildering variety of charm and grace and beauty. It was made so that it might be a message of God unto men, a revelation of His thought, of His character, of His will and purpose toward all.

[Robbins W. Barstow, in the Congregationalist, Boston, Massachusetts]

Here—the Bible—is the divine seed bed of life, crammed with seedlings of power and beauty, of inspiration and of joy. . . . Transplanted into the spaded garden plots of your own lives, they will flourish under your husbandry, to a rich and varied harvest of character and service. Something is bound to grow there, and you can keep out the weeds of selfishness and sin only by cultivating the flowers of faith and the fruitful ideas and the nourishing truths that the Great Gardener of the universe has already sprouted and rooted for your good. If, then, you would show yourselves wise, my friends, get at your gardening!

[Rev. Floyd W. Tomkins, in the Living Church, Milwaukee, Wisconsin]

Our blessed Lord often sought the solitude of the hills. He was often alone, and thus he calls to us to come apart and rest awhile. He prayed and communed with his Father. Oh, the peace of the hour of devotion when the door is shut and we can listen to God and talk to Him! It is then and there that faith and love and trust are born; and when they come, doubts and uncertainties fly away.

[Charlie Stowe, in the Morning Press, Santa Barbara, California]

To live the perfect life is to walk with God. Prayer is talking with God.