For every person who has ever lived there has come, at last, a

Hear, O child of time, the tender yet solemn words of Pam Brown: “For every person who has ever lived there has come, at last, a spring he will never see. Glory then in the springs that are yours.” This is no idle saying, but a truth carved into the marrow of life. All men and women, whether kings or beggars, saints or wanderers, reach a day when their eyes close upon the world, and the turning of the seasons goes on without them. The wheel of life does not halt, the flowers bloom again, and the rivers swell, though one more voice is silent in the great chorus of existence.

The spring here is more than the budding of blossoms or the return of warmth. It is the symbol of renewal, of joy, of opportunity, of the golden days that give meaning to our short sojourn on Earth. To know that there will come a spring we shall never see is to confront mortality, to realize that our time beneath the sun is a gift, not a guarantee. Death will come, as it has for every soul before us. Yet within that certainty lies the gentle command: rejoice in what is given, embrace the seasons that are yours to hold.

Consider the story of Anne Frank, who in the dark years of her confinement wrote of hope, of the beauty of nature glimpsed through a tiny attic window. She would not live to see many springs, but the words she left behind have carried the fragrance of life to countless generations. Though her eyes closed too soon, her soul had already learned to glory in the sunlight, in the fresh air, in the sheer miracle of being alive. Her lesson is eternal: do not wait for freedom or perfect days to celebrate life, for even in hardship, the spring can be found within the heart.

History, too, teaches us through the fallen. The soldiers of countless wars marched into fields they would never return from. Many fell before they could behold another dawn or another season of blossoms. Yet, in letters sent home, one finds gratitude for a last sunset, a remembered meadow, the laughter of a child. They knew, perhaps more keenly than most, that each spring is precious, not to be squandered, for none can say which will be the last. Their sacrifice is a stern reminder: the future is not promised, so treasure the beauty of the present.

The lesson of Brown’s words is clear: rejoice while it is day. Do not pass blindly through your allotted seasons, always yearning for another tomorrow. Instead, glory in the springs that are yours: in the friendships that warm your spirit, in the labors that give meaning to your days, in the blossoms of love and kindness that bloom even in the smallest of moments. For when the final spring you will not see arrives, it will matter not how many years you counted, but how deeply you lived them.

What, then, are the practical actions we must take? Rise each morning with gratitude for breath and for light. Step outside and honor the sky, the trees, the fragrance of the earth. Cherish your loved ones, for their presence is as fleeting as the bloom of cherry blossoms. Pour your energy into works of goodness, for they will outlast your brief passage and flower in generations yet unborn. Do not hold back your affection, your joy, your laughter—scatter them freely, that they may take root in others. In this way, though you will miss the last spring, your spirit will live on in the renewal of the world.

So let the words of Pam Brown settle into your heart: there is a spring awaiting every soul that will never be theirs to behold. Do not lament this truth. Rather, honor it by reveling in the gifts that are yours, by living fully in the springs you have. For each season is a treasure, and every blooming tree a reminder that though time is short, beauty is abundant. Drink deeply of it now, and leave the world richer by the way you have lived.