d
part of our nature; to become meek and lowly in heart while the old
nature is becoming numb from want of use. Pax Vobiscum, pp. 45, 46.

November 27th. Christ's yoke is simply His secret for the alleviation of
human life, His prescription for the best and happiest method of living.
Men harness themselves to the work and stress of the world in clumsy
and unnatural ways. The harness they put on is antiquated. A rough,
ill-fitted collar at the best, they make its strain and friction past
enduring, by placing it where the neck is most sensitive; and by mere
continuous irritation this sensitiveness increases until the whole nature
is quick and sore. Pax Vobiscum, p. 45.

November 28th. No one can get Joy by merely asking for it. It is one of
the ripest fruits of the Christian life, and, like all fruits, must be
grown. Pax Vobiscum, p. 50.

November 29th Christ is the source of Joy to men in the sense in which He
is the source of Rest. His people share His life, and therefore share its
consequences, and one of these is Joy. His method of living is one that
in the nature of things produces Joy. When He spoke of His Joy remaining
with us He meant in part that the causes which produced it should
continue to act. His followers, that is to say, by repeating His life
would experience its accompaniments. His Joy, His kind of Joy, would
remain with them. Pax Vobiscum, p. 54.

November 30th. Think of it, the past is not only focussed there, in a
man's soul, it IS there. How could it be reflected from there if it were
not there? All things that he has ever seen, known, felt, believed of the
surrounding world are now within him, have become part of him, in part
are him--he has been changed into their image. He may deny it, he may
resent it, but they are there. They do not adhere to him, they are
transfused through him. He cannot alter or rub them out. They are not in
his memory, they are in HIM. His soul is as they have filled it, made it,
left it. The Changed Life, p. 27.

December 1st. Temper is significant, not in what it is alone but in what
it reveals. . . . It is a test for love, a symptom, a revelation of an
unloving nature at bottom. It is the intermittent fever which bespeaks
unintermittent disease within; the occasional bubble escaping to the
surface which betrays some rottenness underneath; a sample of the most
hidden products of the soul dropped involuntarily when off one's guard;
IN A WORD, the lightning form of a hu