Whether there was growth in grace last year or not, I hardly know, and yet a year is a long time out of the short season allotted to us here.
Nature has taught us that “March winds and April showers bring forth May flowers,” which, translated into spiritual language, signifies that the rough east wind of self-learning, the breaking of the branches and rotten boughs, the garden strewn with the rubbish, and the tears shed thereupon along with the Sun of Righteousness shining through them are used to clear away what would obstruct the bringing forth of heavenly graces in the soul. The Master calls up sweetness where least expected. He makes the prickly, hard blackthorn gracious with white blossoms in early spring, and there are trees of His planting which bloom excellently and that, too, earlier than do many less rugged characters. But the retiring and modest spirits, like the humble primroses in their sheltered nooks, blossom all through the second winter, and by their lowliness escape many of the necessary blasts which so severely test the tall trees.