In the darkness of night the world is hidden from our vision, but with the first blush of Morn a transcendent revelation of beauty is unfolded to our gaze. We can but stand and watch as the scroll of Day unfolds to our vision the glories, which, in our gilded dreams, were but foreshadowed and felt as the prescience of a mystic hope. But it is with a rarer, more unspeakable loveliness, that the glorious light from the Day-star of Divine Science breaks upon the tempest-tossed sea of mortal life, and steals, like the whispering of a heavenly benediction, into the heart of a waiting and homesick world. Amid panoramas of erring, mortal vision, amid the evolutions and convolutions of our thought, we are confronted by a Light from some unseen Source which irradiates the heavens of our consciousness, and draws us tide-wise into the mighty stream of Life. The never ceasing activities of mind are shaped into a definite purpose, and though that purpose be at times hidden and unknown, it is the demonstration or realization of Life. We are accustomed to measure time, days, months, years,— as pertaining to our own mortal life,—and centuries and thousands of years as pertaining to the universe outside of our own limited sphere of existence. However Life is an individual Unit, and all calculations based upon finite reckoning bear the stamp of error, and are not in accord with the calculus of God,—Infinite Mind.
The universe resounds with the oratory of Life, it teaches great lessons of Truth, and is ecstatically tinted with the glow of Love. There is always more than we perceive. The worlds roll on though we perceive them not. Each goes on in the vast cycle of its being. So is Life, without beginning or end, an endless circle knowing no space, time, or limitation. This is Divine Life, which was "before Abraham" was, which was "before the founding of the world to mortal sense. Material, or mortal, sense would bring all things to speedy dissolution and envelop them with the mantle of death, but the impulse of Life forbids, and with prophetic fingers they point to the inextinguishable Source of existence.
Winter comes and blights the flowers, spreading o'er the earth its white winding-sheet, but the cold winds melt in the arms of Spring, dying in the luxuriousness of vernal glory.
