it.After a long interval I came to the hills again, this time by the coast.
I found a deep hollow on the side of a great hill, a green concave opening
to the sea, where I could rest and think in perfect quiet. Behind me were
furze bushes dried by the heat; immediately in front dropped the steep
descent of the bowl-like hollow which received and brought up to me the
faint sound of the summer waves. Yonder lay the immense plain of sea, the
palest green under the continued sunshine, as though the heat had evaporated
the colour from it; there was no distinct horizon, a heat-mist inclosed it
and looked farther away than the horizon would have done. Silence and
sunshine, sea and hill gradually brought my mind into the condition of
intense prayer. Day after day, forhours at a time, I came there, my
soul-desire always the same. Presently I began to consider how I could put
a part of that prayer into form, giving it an object. Could I bring it into
such a shape as would admit of actually working upon the lines it indicated
for any good ?

One evening, when the bright white star in Lyra was shining
almost at the zenith over me, and the deep concave was the more
profound in the dusk, I formulated it into three divisions.
First, I desired that I might do or find something to exalt the
soul, something to enable it to live its own life, a more
powerful existence now. Secondly, I desired to be able to do something for
the flesh, to make a discovery or perfect a method by which the fleshly body
might enjoy more pleasure, longer life, and suffer less pain. Thirdly, to
construct a more flexible engine with which to carry into execution the
design of the will. I called this the Lyra prayer, to distinguish it from
the far deeper emotion in which the soul was alone
concerned.

Of the three divisions, the last was of so little importance