SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT AT EASTER.
Old Winter has gone at last, and left the sun at peace to his work of warming the ground and coaxing out of it the grass and flowers. But Winter was icy cold this year. He staid with us as long as he dared, kept his rough winds blowing, froze all the water he could spy out, and made the snow fall. The snow! It came falling, driving, whirling down, again and again, and so many times again, that the boys shouted themselves hoarse, and snow-balls were as common as sparrows, and commoner too, sometimes, for the sparrows lost one another in the storms. A merry old friend was Winter! He kept the sleigh-bells jingling, and the boys on skates until even eight-year-old chaps learned the "Dutch Roll" and "Eights," and bad boys of all ages played "hookey." He hung more icicles than ever on our eaves and lamp-posts, and loaded the telegraph wires with ice until they broke and fell into tangles at the street corners.
But, oh! the gay parties, the sleigh-rides, the coasting (out of town), and the rollicking games that we had! The nut-crackings, corn-poppings, and candy-pulls! And then Christmas! Was there ever anything brighter than Christmas? Maybe not; indeed, I really think not. But hearken, children! The brightest part of it, half of you never saw. You listened to the old birthday story; you looked at the picture of Jesus in the manger, with St. John and the angels smiling at Him; but how many of you thought or wondered what it meant? Why does the Baby look straight into your faces, instead of turning His sweet smile to St. John or to one of the angels? Ah! that is the very bright thing you must remember. Because He was not born for the joy of St. John, or of any one in particular, but for all of us—every one—to be the Light of the World. So He smiles out of the picture into the face of whoever looks at Him, with the same love for the poorest little ragamuffin shivering at the corner, or the lonely sick child lying in the hospital, or even the criminal shut in behind prison bars, as for you who have always had loving friends about you to guard and save you from misfortune. If all the children in the world could have that picture, and be told why the Baby looks into their faces so lovingly, they would grow up better men and women. Fewer of them would get into trouble; and when they did, the others would be more ready to help them out. It is well and fitting to show you now, at Easter-time, this picture of the little Jesus. You can have a better chance to think about it than at Christmas, when your toys, your fun, and your frolic make it easier to think of yourselves. It is fitting because we think now of another birth—of the new life which begins forever! Easter reminds us how Jesus began that new life; how, after all His long suffering, He rose to the life that is never-ending, and rising, pointed out the beautiful way for us all.
The grass springing up in the parks, buds coming on the trees, the little seeds swelling and bursting in the ground, and sending up leaves and stems, remind us every hour of new fresh life. Out-of-doors with you all! At the close of school, out into the fresh air, and shout for the spring. Spy out the first crocus and dandelion, and see if you can find a single one of all the bird-cottages in the parks "to let." Go into the country on holidays, and look for arbutus; open your eyes wide, and don't let a bit of the beauty escape you.
And if you should discover here and there a chance to point out bits of brightness to another whose eyes may be duller than yours, if you should see a way to help some one who is weaker, an opportunity to do any little kindly act for those less fortunate than you, seize upon the chance, and bless it for coming, for that will be the best way your young hands can take to point toward the glorious life which the old story tells us Jesus began on an Easter morning.