the sun had changed the world for you for a little.

It is something like that on this higher plane, in this finer sense. That
must have been something of Paul's thought in explaining the glory of
Jesus that he saw on the Damascus road. "When I could not see for the
glory of that light." The old ideals were blurred. The old ambitions faded
away. The jagged, sharp lines of sacrifice and suffering involved in his
new life were not clearly seen. A halo had come over them.

I recall a bit of a poem I ran across in an old magazine somewhere. It was
one of those vagrant, orphan poems with fine family lineaments that find
their way unfathered into odd corners of papers. It told about a man
riding on horseback through a bit of timber land in one of the cotton
states of the South.

It was a bright October day, and he was riding along enjoying the air and
view, when all at once he came across a bit of a clearing in the trees,
and in the clearing an old cabin almost fallen to pieces, and in the
doorway of the cabin an old negress standing. Her back was bent nearly
double with the years of hard work, her face dried up and deeply bitten
with wrinkles, and her hair white. But her eyes were as bright as two
stars out of the dark blue, it said.

And the man called out cheerily, "Good-morning, auntie, living here all
alone?" And she looked up, with her eyes brighter yet with the thought in
her heart, and in a shrill keyed-up voice said, "Jes me 'n' Jesus, massa."
But he said a hush came over the whole place, there seemed a halo about
the old broken-down cabin, and he thought he could see Somebody standing
by her side looking over her shoulder at him, and His form was like that
of the Son of God.