through many wonderful
beings to the place of Brahma. There is the first fountain, the world of
beautiful silence, the light which has been undimmed since the beginning
of time. But turning backwards from the gate the small old path winds
away into the world of men, and it enters every sorrowful heart. This
is the way the great ones go. They turn with the path from the door
of Brahma. They move along its myriad ways, and overcome pain with
compassion. After many conquered worlds, after many races of purified
and uplifted men, they go to a greater than Brahma. In these, though
few, is the hope of the world. These are the heroes for whose returning
the earth puts forth her signal fires, and the Devas sing their hymns of
welcome."

We paused where the plateau widened out. There was scarce a ripple in
the chill air. In quietness the snows glistened, a light reflected from
the crores of stars that swung with glittering motion above us. We
could hear the immense heart-beat of the world in the stillness. We had
thoughts that went ranging through the heavens, not sad, but full of
solemn hope.

"Brothers! Master! look! The wonderful thing! And another, and yet
another!" we heard Ananda calling. We looked and saw the holy blossom,
the midnight flower. Oh, may the earth again put forth such beauty.
It grew up from the snows with leaves of delicate crystal. A nimbus
encircled each radiant bloom, a halo pale yet lustrous. I bowed over it
in awe; and I heard Varunna say, "The earth indeed puts forth her signal
fires, and the Devas sing their hymn. Listen!" We heard a music as of
beautiful thoughts moving along the high places of the earth, full of
infinite love and hope and yearning.

"Be glad now, for one is born who has chosen the greater way. Kedar,
Narayan, Ananda, farewell! Nay, no farther. It is a long way to return,
and the child will tire."

He went on and passed from our sight. But we did not return. We remained
long, long in silence, looking at the sacred flower.-------------

Vow, taken long ago, be strong in our hearts today. Here, where the pain
is fiercer, to rest is more sweet. Here, where beauty dies away, it is
more joy to be lulled in dream. Here, the good, the true, our hope seem
but a madness born of ancient pain. Out of rest, dream, or despair may
we arise, and go the way the great ones go.

1894

THE CHILDHOOD OF APOLLO

It was long ago, so long that only the spirit of earth remembers truly.