ole meaning of life, together with all the graduated and
accepted values of it, becomes for ever changed in the light of the
knowledge of Celestial Happiness.

PART III

I

Wonderful, beautiful weeks went by, filled with divine,
indescribable peace. The Presence of God was with me day and
night, and the world was not the world as I had once known it--a
place where men and women fought and sinned and toiled and
anguished and wondered horribly the meaning of this mystery of
pain and joy, of life and death. The world was become Paradise, and
in my heart I cried to all my fellow-souls, "Why fret and toil, why
sweat and anguish for the things of earth when our own God has in
His hand such peace and bliss and happiness to give to Every man?
O come and receive it, Every man his share."

And the glamour of life in Unity with God became past all
comprehension and all words.

Is life, then, a poem? is it a melody? I cannot say; but it is one long
essence of delight--a harmony of flowing out and back again to God.
O blessed life! O blessed Man! O blessed God!

II

One morning in my room I began thinking and reasoning about a
wonderful change that I knew had crept all through me. If God
should now come at any moment of the day or night and turn over
every secret page of heart and mind, He would not find one thought
or glimmer of any sort or kind of lust, whether of the eye, of the
heart, of the mind, or of the body; and all in one moment I realised
the miracle that Christ had worked in me, and the words came over
my mind, "Though thy sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as
snow." And I stood there, gazing before me, speechless, and the
tears of a joy that was an agony of gratitude poured and poured
down my face like a rain. I did not sob, I could not speak, and very
quietly I took my heart and my mind and my soul and laid them for
ever at the feet of Christ.

III

One evening as I knelt to say my prayers, which were never long,
because since the Visitation on the hill my natural habit--whether
walking, sitting, working, travelling, or on my bed--had come to be
a continual sending up from my heart and mind the tenderest and
most adoring, the most worshipping and thanking little stream of
thoughts to God (very much as a flower, if we could but see it, sends
its scent to the sun).

And because this mode of prayer is so smooth and joyous, so easy,
so unutterably sweet, in that during it the Presence of God laves