“Written in Early Spring” by William Wordsworth (1770–1850)

  I HEARD a thousand blended notes   While in a grove I sate reclined,  In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts  Bring sad thoughts to the mind.  To her fair works did Nature link  The human soul that through me ran;  And much it grieved my heart to think  What Man has made of Man.  Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower,  The periwinkle trail’d its wreaths;  And ’tis my faith that every flower  Enjoys the air it breathes.  The birds around me hopp’d and play’d,  Their thoughts I cannot measure,—  But the least motion which they made  It seem’d a thrill of pleasure.  The budding twigs spread out their fan  To catch the breezy air;  And I must think, do all I can,  That there was pleasure there.  If this belief from heaven be sent,  If such be Nature’s holy plan,  Have I not reason to lament  What Man has made of Man?

Feeling the weight

"Once while bathing in the river Sutlej I sank deep into the water. Above my head were tons of water and yet I did not feel the burden at all. When I camed back to the bank, I lifted a pot filled with water and found it very heavy. As long as I was in the water I did not feel the weight.

Similarly a sinner does not feel that he is a sinner as long as he lives in sin."

(Sadhu Sundar Singh, 1889-1929)

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