cher, Truth, questions concerning spiritual things, only
to be told we must be born from above if we would know the things of
the spirit. 'That which is born of flesh is flesh, and that which is
born of Spirit is spirit.'

"We are covered with the cold, hard shell of material beliefs, which
must be broken and cast away before the sweet and tender germ of spirit
can spring up. We are born like the flowers, and blossom like them.
'Consider the lilies of the field, _how they grow_.'

"Seed typifies the desire for truth planted in the conscious and
unconscious being. The more constantly and persistently we hold the
desire, the more rapid and perfect will be the development that produces
the fruit. The hard little kernel must first lie in the dark earth,
while hidden forces make it swell and sprout until the outer shell dies
and falls away, leaving the pure white germ to push its way up and up
through the cold dreary earth. At this period it is very delicate and
tender, and yet it must pass through a trying stage, for when the white
spire just peeps above the ground it has to encounter elements that at
first seem bent upon its destruction.

"Will the sun's rays now prove too hot for it? Will the winds be too
rough and stormy? Will the cold air bite, or the storm beat and bruise
it unto death? Pointing ever skyward, does it stop to shiver at the
prospect of dark and cold and heat, or windy violence?

"Let us see. Bravely the young shoot goes its way. As soon as it sees
the light it displays new beauty, and the reflected glory clothes it in
a brighter robe--the fresh, dainty green of spring's supernal dress,
emblem of everlasting youth. But a storm of wind and rain assails it.
Dense cloud-curtains hide the sun, and the air is cold and chilling.
Sometimes for days this benumbing coldness lasts. But after the storm
our little friend is greener and brighter and larger than ever. It has
withstood the storm and wind, by using them for its own advancement.
Everything has been turned into good by recognizing only the good.

"When the sunshine comes again the little slip is baptized with dew and
warmth and light, and joyously springs on toward budding time, and then
another and different experience befalls. Instead of rolling every new
leaf outward to be bathed in the light and kissed by the wind, there is
a rolling inward, a curling up and shutting in of the new and delicate
leaves. A hard, unlovely roll or lump now displays itse