The Spirit says unto the churches, ‘So many the feet that have trod The road leading up into knowledge, The steep narrow path has grown broad; And the curtain held down by old dogmas Is lifted by God.’ ANSWERS What is the end of each man’s toil, Brother, O Brother? A handful of dust in a bit of soil— His name forgotten as centuries roll, Though blazoned to-day on Glory’s scroll; For the lordliest work of brain or hand Is only an imprint made on sand; When the tidal wave sweeps over the shore It is there no more, Brother, my Brother. Then what is the use of striving at all, Brother, O Brother? Because each effort or great or small Is a step on the long, long road that leads To the Kingdom of Growth on the River of Deeds: And that is the kingdom no man can gain Till he uses his hand and his mind and brain, And when he has used them and learned control He finds his soul, Brother, my Brother. And after he finds it, what is the end, Brother, O Brother? Upward ever its course and trend; For this is the purpose and aim and plan To seek in the soul for the Super-man— The man who is conscious that Heaven is near— A bulletin bearer from There to Here, Finding God dwells in the spirit within Where He ever has been, Brother, my Brother. And what will the God-man do when He comes, Brother, O Brother? He will better the world or in courts or slums, He will do in gladness his nearest duty: He will teach the religion of love and beauty In field or factory, mine or mart, While He tells the world of the larger part And the wider life that is yet to be When spirit is free, Brother, my Brother. When spirit is free, then where will it go, Brother, O Brother? Its uttermost summit no man may know, For it goes up to God in His holy Tower To gather more knowledge and force and power; Like a ray of the sun it shall shine again To brighten new planets and races of men. Life had no beginning, life has no end, Brother and friend— Brother, my Brother. HOW IS IT? _You who are loudly crying out for peace_, _You who are wanting love to vanquish hate_, _How is it in the four walls of your home_ _The while you wait_? Do those who form your household welcome your approach in the morning As the earth welcomes the presence of dawn, Or do they dread your coming lest you censure and complain? Do you begin the day with praise to God for each blessing you possess, and do you speak frequent words of commendation to those about you? Do those you claim to love often hear you talking in love’s language, Or is your softest tone and your sweetest speech saved for the sometime guest, While the harsh voice and the sharp retort are used with those you love the best?