ls are transparent to the sunrise flame and through which the glory
enters in. What has he to do with that far-away, opaque, limited
environment into which he was born? No more than has the giant oak,
tossing its branches under the stars, to do with the acorn cup out of
which it sprang. Let one realize, ever so faintly, even, the miracle of
possibilities that may unfold, and his life is uplifted into a richness
and a peace, and a serene confidence that carries with it the essential
essence of all that is best and noblest in its past, and all that is
potential in its infinite future. The problem evolves into a definite
work to be fulfilled, and this work, in turn, leads to another problem
involving its demonstration, in actual performance, as well; and by this
alternation life progresses,--growing ever larger and deeper and more
exalted with its increasing power. In this way man produces his
circumstances--creates his outer conditions. His successive environments
become the expressions of his inner life and energy in their series of
development and growth.

But this growth, this development, may be stimulated or retarded. It
depends entirely upon the degree to which one may relate himself to the
spiritual energy of the divine atmosphere, ever ready to pour itself,
with unlimited power, through every receptive channel. And this energy
is the Divine Will, and entering into it man does not lose his own free
choice, but only enters into that which makes his conscious choice vital
and magnetic with infinite power of achievement.

Maurice Maeterlinck offered a fascinating contribution to this range of
discussion, in the course of which he said:--

"One would say that man had always the feeling that a mere
infirmity of his mind separates him from the future. He knows it to
be there, living, actual, perfect, behind a kind of wall, around
which he has never ceased to turn since the first days of his
coming on this earth. Or rather, he feels it within himself and
known to a part of himself; only, that importunate and disquieting
knowledge is unable to travel, through the too narrow channels of
his senses, to his consciousness, which is the only place where
knowledge acquires a name, a useful strength, and, so to speak, the
freedom of the human city. It is only by glimmers, by casual and
passing infiltrations, that future years, of which he is full, of
which the imperiou