Since the day when he had first realized his manhood, the working out of his dreams had been to the man the supreme object of his life. He had put his life, literally, into his work. For his work he had lived. But that Christmas eve, when his mind and heart were so filled with thoughts of childhood and those new emotions were aroused within him, he saw that the supreme thing in his life must be Life itself. He saw that not by putting his life into his work, would he most truly live, but by making his work contribute to his life. He realized that the greatest achievements of man are but factors in Life--that the one supreme, dominant, compelling, purpose of Life is to _live_--to _live_--to _live_--to express itself in Life--that the only adequate expression of Life _is_ Life--that the passion of Life is to pass itself on--from age to age, from generation to generation, in a thousand thousand forms, in a thousand thousand ages, in a thousand thousand peoples, Life had passed itself on--was even then passing itself on--seeking ever fuller expression of itself; seeking ever to perfect itself; seeking ever to produce itself. He saw that the things that men do come out of their lives even as the plants come out of the soil into which the seed is dropped; and, that, even as the dead and decaying plant goes back into the earth from which it came, to enrich and renew the ground, so man's work, that comes out of his life, is reabsorbed again into his life to enrich and renew it. He realized, now, that the object of his life must be not his work but Life itself--that his effort must be not to do but to be--that he must accomplish not a great work but a great Life. It was inevitable that the man should come to see, also, that the supreme glory of his manhood's strength was in this: the reproduction of his kind. The man life that ran so strongly in his veins, that throbbed so exultantly in his splendid body, that thrilled so keenly in his nerves--the man life that he had from his parents and from countless generations before--the life that made him kin to all his race and to all created things--this life he must pass on. This was the supreme glory of his manhood: that he could pass it on--that he could give it to the ages that were to come. From the heights which he attained that Christmas eve, the man laughed at the empty, swelling, words of those who talk about the sacredness of work--who prattle as children about leaving a great work when they are gone--who gibber as fools about contributing a great work to the world.