mulating stratas of experience. The dream, once clearly
recognized, becomes a personal responsibility. It has been revealed for
a purpose. It is the Divine revelation to the individual life, and these
visions are given to the individual as well as to humanity, and they are
the most significant occurrences in the entire experience of life. To
once clearly recognize this divine ideal, this glorious vision of
possibilities that shines once and for all upon the individual, and then
to turn away from it and leave it unrealized in the outward life: to put
it by, because the effort to transform the vision into external and
visible conditions is surrounded with difficulties and invested with
perplexities, is to wander into the maze of confusion. Difficulties are
merely incidental. They are neither here nor there. If God give the
dream He will lead the way. If He gives it, He means something by it,
and its significance should be appreciated and taken into life as a
working energy. It is the will of the Lord, and to pray sincerely that
the Divine will be done, is also to accept the obligation of entering
into the doing of it. Indeed, difficulties and perplexities in the way
do not count and should not. Briars and brambles there will always be,
but one's path lies onward all the same. Who would relinquish a right
purpose because its achievement were hard? All the more should he press
on and gain the strength of the obstacles that he overcomes.

Doctor William T. Harris says, "Realize your ideals quickly." That is,
an ideal is a responsibility; it is the working model that God has set
before the individual; the pattern after which and by which he shall
shape his life. If he accept and follow it with fidelity and energy;
with that energy born of absolute faith in the Divine leading,--he will
find himself miraculously led; he will find that the obstacle which
appears so insurmountable in perspective vanishes as he comes near; that
a way is made, a path appears.

It chanced to the writer of these papers to take a long day's stage
drive one summer through the Colorado mountain region. For a distance of
forty-five miles the solitary road wound on and on, ever ascending
through the dreamy, purple mountains. The entire route was a series of
vistas that apparently came to an abrupt end at the base of an
insurmountable height. The mountain wall seemed to utterly arrest
progress, as it rose across the ascending valley through which the
driv