men knows that he risks his own peace, his reputa-
tion, his friends, for his belief. But of what value
is a belief for which no risks are run?

Certainly it is put to the test in these days, when
every day brings the echo of violence, injustice, and
new cruelties. But was it not still more tried when
it was entrusted to the fishermen of Judea by him
whom humanity pretends to honor still--with its
lips more than with its heart? The rivers of blood,
the burnt towns, all the atrocities of thought and
action, will never efface in our tortured souls the
luminous track of the Galilean barque, nor the deep
vibrations of the great voices which from across the
centuries proclaim reason as man's true home. You
choose to forget them, and to say (like many writers
of today) that this war will begin a new era in the
history of mankind, a reversal of former values,
and that from it alone will future progress be dated.
That is always the language of passion. Passion
passes away. Reason remains--reason and love.
Let us continue to search for their young shoots
amidst the bloody ruins.

I feel the same joy when I find the fragile and
valiant flowers of human pity piercing the icy crust
of hatred that covers Europe, as we feel in these
chilly March days when we see the first flowers ap-

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