Hear thou this! The bliss of action I have planted in thy spirit and if for a span thy soul hath grown weary and thou longest to fold thy tired wings and sleep awhile on the Island of White Silence, that dwells even in the midst of the ocean of existence, if that thou wouldst do—call upon Me and with My smile that which is unlike Me, shall drop from thy soul, as the old garment falleth from the butterfly, when its wings are strong to cleave the air. And after a sufficient slumber thou shalt be quickened with deathless energy and shalt speed in eagle swiftness even to the sun, which is the burning of the love in My Eye. But, list, my jewel! Be not confounded by the shaking of thy timid heart, nor yet by the yelling grisly shapes, that seem full of dread, hunting at thy back, nor be allured by bright phantoms of false joys beckoning thee ceaselessly. Like swarms of gnats about a dark and sullen river, they crowd about the heart that harbours thoughts of fear and lo, their stings do itch and burn and swell and bring fever to the blood and bitterness to the taste and even death to the joy that dwelleth in the heart. Lo, My child, hast thou not spied the serpent in the closed, tight bud of the rose or even in the hollow of the rosy fruit? Eye saw it not, but the rose became even as rust and the apple rotten. So beware that an adder rest not in the bud of the heart and that adder fear be opposed to hope which I have placed in goodly share upon thy brow. * * List, My own, and abide by My song that unto thy soul I sing: Bliss is the perpetual motion of Love. As a running stream it is that cometh from an inexhaustible source, the depth of which is even unmeasurable. * * To the unknowing and unloving the surface in unruffled, but he that seeth underneath, he findeth there current 'neath current, whirlpool within whirlpool and depth beneath depth and the sum of it all is Love, which is Life and coupled together by the links of Bliss. * * I have a shore that is called the Island of Rest, here do the souls of many hold sabbath. They lie in tranquil slumber for a little, much have they to tell, but they fear to break the tranquility of their calm. Here their dwelling is illumined with glory. The melody of sweet peace bathes their soul; the mystery of their being is revealed unto them. For a little here they wait but still this home is but a transient resting place between earth and Me. Rest can be thine, my own, in slumber of ecstasy, but Bliss can be thine through the perpetual action of Love. Which wouldst thou have? * * Come to Me again and I will even sing to thy soul of my Love. * *