Page:The story of Mary MacLane (IA storyofmarymacla00macliala).pdf/222



O-DAY I walked over the sand, and it was almost beautiful. The sun was sinking and the sky was filled with roses and gold.

Then came my soul and confronted me. My soul is wondrous fair. It is like a young woman. The beauty of it is too great for human eyes to look upon. It is too great for mine. Yet I look.

My soul said to me: "I am sick."

I answered: "And I am sick."

"We may be well," said my soul. "Why are we not well?"

"How may we be well?" I asked.

"We may throw away all our vanity and false pride," said my soul. "We way take on a new life. We may learn to wait and to possess ourselves in patience. We may labor and overcome."

"We can do none of these things," I