That is the secret of the curative influence of sweetsouled people upon those who are sick in mind or body, and if people could understand these influences as they are and value them justly we should soon see a happier world with less sorrow, less injustice, less sickness and a far wider recognition of the material as well as spiritual truth that brotherhood is an universal fact in Nature, and that our evolution can never be complete until all realize it and live accordingly. THE CYCLE OF LIFE. BY MARY KONOPNITSKY. TRANSLATED FROM THE POLISH BY V. A. H. PRELUDE. In the new morn, that dawns above the world, I put aside the black and sombre harp, that plays and sings so sadly. For, from the ocean's farthest shore, with the first daybreak blushes, with the golden arrows of the sun, there comes on rosy wings, all radiant with fiery auroras, a new song, a bird of the arriving spring. In the new morn, that dawns above the world, I stretch the golden strings, I weave them from the day-beams, I paint them with the iris dew. For through the mould of sorrows, there breaks the music of mountain waterfalls; their vernal voice and chime now reach me from every rock and rill, and a new flowery raiment is again woven for the earth. In the new morn, that dawns above the world, I tie fresh golden cords of sound,—not for the pain, not for the longing in the gloom, not for the old complaint of the lonely heart. I send them into the blue infinitudes unrestrained, I launch them from globe to globe, into the farthest space. From star to star there glistens of my strings the golden grate. I. I am a ray. The fount of Light I cannot circumscribe. And yet I fly. Through the dark nights I fly, through stars and pallid moons; I kindle ephemeral scintillations, I send out my trembling light towards infinity's eternal flame, from which shines forth the sun of all the suns. And now I darken, totter, pale; I lose my breath, my hope, I smoulder like a spark. And lo! again I energize my rays, cast into endless skies; again I illume myself and burn; I reach forth, I fly in space as a fiery ribbon from the spindle of the spirit. Now my tiny ray approaches the great sun; it is already burning with eternity's first blush. As an arrow I sling myself into the bright path, illuminated by the rosy dawn. I am a ray—the fount of Light I cannot circumscribe. Let me, then, be encompassed by its dome. II. I am a spark of eternity; and I am a pilgrim. Even to-day shall I pass away, after a while, after an hour's stroke, together with the smoke of the shepherd's fire, which writhes in blue strands over the forest in the eve, and disappears in the tears of dew before the night. Even to-day shall I be divorced from that power, which holds me here from the twilight to the twilight, and the sun shall not see me more with his golden eyes.