Some time ago the writer stood on the deck of a ship in the wee small hours of the morning. The stars hung low in the tropical sky, and on the horizon a lighthouse flashed its welcome. We were approaching land. Then came the dawn gradually, gradually, until the sky was aflame with glory.
To the writer, that dawn symbolized the activity of the Christ. Before it darkness fled. As she watched, there came an overwhelming sense of the magnitude of what was going on. Nothing could stop the dawn, because it was impelled by the power which governs the universe, a power which the world cannot touch.
"Why," she thought, "if all mankind—every man, woman, and child of every race and creed—were leagued together to prevent this dawn, if all the diabolical inventions of physical force and nuclear weapons, of human hate and mesmeric control, were hurled against it, they would not even touch it, much less stop it, for the power which governs the universe is God."
