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Spring is Christ,
Raising martyred plants from their shrouds.
Their mouths open in gratitude, wanting to be kissed.
The glow of the rose and the tulip means a lamp is inside.
A leaf trembles. I tremble in the wind-beauty like silk from Turkestan.
The censer fans into flame.
--
"Spring is Christ" in Ch. 4 : Spring Giddiness, p. 37

 

Jalal al-Din Muhammad Rumi

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We may find the Divine to be 3,000 times what we think it is now. It's like asking the tulip there to explain you. The tulip is a beautiful creation, with millions of atoms cooperating with each other to produce great beauty, but ask that tulip to talk about you, and it can't do it. It doesn't have those perceptive abilities. Wouldn't it be conceited to suggest that I had the abilities to describe the deity?

 

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If love were what the rose is,
And I were like the leaf,
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In sad or singing weather,
Blown fields or flowerful closes,
Green pasture or gray grief;
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Summer ends now; now, barbarous in beauty, the stooks arise
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Of silk-sack clouds! has wilder, wilful-wavier
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If we knew all our need, what a large want book we should require! How comforting to know that Jesus has a supply book which exactly meets our want book. We want the vision of a calmer and simpler beauty, to tranquillize us in the midst of artificial tastes — we want the draught of a pure spring to cool the flame of our excited life; we want, in other words, the spirit of the life of Christ, simple, natural, with power to soothe and calm the feelings which it rouses; the fullness of the spirit which can never intoxicate.

 

Frederick William Robertson