Article September 26, 1936 Issue

Sing, with Paul

VERA L. CONNOLLY

A student of Christian Science who for some time had been endeavoring to see and to prove the unreality of a disease she seemed to be manifesting, found herself, though grateful for some progress, suddenly yielding to discouragement and apathy. Why battle longer? error argued. Why not just admit defeat? Is it worth while to struggle so?

For several days these false suggestions of failure and futility were permitted to enter consciousness and flood it with misery, self-pity, and despair, thus halting all progress.

Then one morning—Sunday morning—the student was awakened very early by a ringing, triumphant chorus of bird notes just outside her window. Annoyed at first, she crossed over to close the window. There she paused, shamed and touched. It was a dreary, rainy morning in a big city. The rain was coming down in sheets. And directly in the downpour, on the ledge of a closed office window next door, perched a row of small birds. They had no shelter, no food, nothing that a human being regards as comfort. Yet they were hopping about gaily, and literally flinging their joyful chirpings into the rainy air.

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