The Stundist in Siberian Exile AND OTHER POEMS, William Fetler, 1922

is brought into the Holiest of Holies until the next year. The choir sings triumphant Resur¬ rection hymns. The service does not last long after that. We go home and have our Easter breakfast, the earliest breakfast in the year, long before the sun rises. Then we go to sleep and get up about ten o'clock on Sunday morning. So it comes ! Our long-expected first day of the Easter week. The children play with the coloured eggs, and the time passes quickly. The “ visitors ” begin to go round on Easter Monday, congratulating each other upon the great festival. Instead of ordinary words of 100 MEMORIES OF MY CHILDHOOD welcome, they say: " Christ is risen ! ” and the answer is : “ He is risen indeed ! ” Then little by little, even from the second day, disappointment slowly but surely creeps into the heart. We have been waiting so long. We have been expecting so much, and now. . . . These some¬ what intoxicated “ visitors ” and endless parties, the ordinary conversations, and enjoying one's self in an ordinary prosaic, materialistic manner by good eating, drinking, and pleasantly spending the time. ... Oh ! how all this strips from our beautiful 'Easter festival its mysterious charm, and the heart feels so sad and dissatisfied and empty ! But the year passes by. Then comes spring¬ time again, and the whole of nature is in full ex¬ pectation of a coming resurrection. The first day of the great Lent comes. The church bells again ring slowly and solemnly, calling the people for worship and meditation and repentance, that they may be able worthily to meet the great day of Easter. Again the hearts of the Russian people are full of expectation of something wonderful. They crowd the churches and listen to the weeping, monotonous tunes of the sacred hymns. They fast and pray, and they know that all this will end in the great and glorious Day of Resurrection. And let me say that this expectation is not in vain. We feel that fresh spring winds are MEMORIES OF MY CHILDHOOD ioi beginning to blow after the centuries of cruel, deadening winter. A woman saved from suicide by the preaching of the Gospel in Chernovitzy; fifty souls converted in three meetings in the Government of Minsk ; three Red Guards singing in the choir of another missionary in the Govern¬ ment of Volyn ! Are these not the first swallows of the coming spring ? And not only these. The news comes that in some parts whole villages are turning to Christ. The ice melts under the Divine breath. Resurrection! Resurrection ! Glad Easter Day ! Oh, let us go and tell the Russian pepple that the resurrection of Christ means our resurrection to a wonderful new life, for “ He died for all, that they that live should no longer live unto themselves, but unto Him, who for their sakes died and rose again ! ” MORGAN AND SCOTT LTD. 12, PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS LONDON, E.C. 4