If the snow were any match
for the strength of April’s sun…
If the sky weren’t endless blue,
clouds undone and on the run…
If the love that lifts us all
weren’t already on the ground—
grace incarnate, mercy’s deed,
flowing river winding round,
pulsing with the truth I’ve seen
and sung
countless times before,
always when it seems an end
what is real is something more:
rainbow arc from pulsing rain
brilliant bloom from blank decay
life from vestiges of grief
hope from endless shades of grey…
…then birdsong alleluia
would have gone unheard today.
I’d have knelt at the altar of despair
and left my offering there.
Instead I raise my newfound voice
with cardinal and robin,
Alleluia! Alleluia!
Praise the God of resurrection!