, your senses satisfied, or self be justified.

Therefore, beloved, my often-coming is unnecessary;
for, though I be present or absent, it is God that feed-
eth the hungry heart, that giveth grace for grace, that [20]
healeth the sick and cleanseth the sinner. For this
consummation He hath given you Christian Science,
and my past poor labors and love. He hath shown you
the amplitude of His mercy, the justice of His judgment,
the omnipotence of His love; and this, to compensate [25]
your zealous affection for seeking good, and for labor-
ing in its widening grooves from the infinitesimal to the
infinite.

CHAPTER IX. THE FRUIT OF SPIRIT

[Page 323.]

An Allegory

Picture to yourself "a city set upon a hill," a [2]
celestial city above all clouds, in serene azure and
unfathomable glory: having no temple therein, for God is
the temple thereof; nor need of the sun, neither of the [5]
moon, for God doth lighten it. Then from this sacred
summit behold a Stranger wending his way downward,
to where a few laborers in a valley at the foot of the moun-
tain are working and watching for his coming.

The descent and ascent are beset with peril, priva- [10]
tion, temptation, toil, suffering. Venomous serpents hide
among the rocks, beasts of prey prowl in the path, wolves
in sheep's clothing are ready to devour; but the Stranger
meets and masters their secret and open attacks with
serene confidence. [15]

The Stranger eventually stands in the valley at the
foot of the mountain. He saith unto the patient toilers
therein: "What do ye here? Would ye ascend the moun-
tain,--climbing its rough cliffs, hushing the hissing
serpents, taming the beasts of prey,--and bathe in its [20]
streams, rest in its cool grottos, and drink from its living
fountains? The way winds and widens in the valley;
up the hill it is straight and narrow, and few there be that
find it."

[Page 324.]

His converse with the watchers and workers in the [1]
valley closes, and he makes his way into the streets of a
city made with hands.

Pausing at the threshold of a palatial dwelling, he
knocks and waits. The door is shut. He hears the [5]
sounds of festivity and mirth; youth, manhood, and age
gayly tread the gorgeously tapestried parlors, dancing-
halls, and banquet-rooms. But a little while, and the
music is dull, the wine is unsipped, the footfalls abate,
the laughter ceases. Then from the window of this dwel- [10]
ling a face l