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!