sometimes I rush to it with a song; I am writing about it now because I am
worn out, and yet I can not think of anything else.

This man will find the truth; being delivered from the captivity of the
world and set free to be a soul. Superstition blinds him; doubt and despair
and weakness blind him; but still he gropes and strives, cries out and
battles for truth; until at last, shut up in his own being, he tears his
way out to the very source of it, and knows for himself what it is.
_Infinite it is, and unthinkable; glorious, all-consuming, all-sufficing;
food and drink, friendship and love, ambition and victory, joy, power,
and eternity it is to him who finds it; and all things in this world are
nothing to him who finds it._

* * * * *

And so comes the victory to this soul. Hour by hour he catches gleams of
the light; day by day he toils toward it, with fear and agony and prayer;
until at last he knows his salvation--to rest never, and to toil always,
and to dwell in this Presence of his God. In one desperate hour he flings
away the world and the hope of the world, and vows this consecration, and
lives.

* * * * *

He keeps the vow; it is iron necessity that drives him. He finds himself,
he finds his way--each day his step is surer.

Each day the channels of his being deepen. He lays broad plans for his
life--he gathers all knowledge, he solves all problems; lord of the
infinite mind, he ranges all existence, and beholds it as the symbol of