IT IS SPRING AGAIN, a day of sunshine, tempered by a soft west wind. As I enter my study and sit at my desk, the sweetness of the morning makes me disinclined to work. Gazing through the window at the green, gently swaying trees I fall insensibly into a reverie. . . looking backward, in a mood of introspection, of self-analysis.
When a man surveys his past from middle age he must surely ask himself what those bygone years have taught him. If I have learned anything in the swift unrolling of the web of time -- and it seems only yesterday since I hastened through Kelvingrove to my medical classes, an eager, fresh-complexioned lad of twenty, bent on conquering the universe -- it is the virtue of tolerance, of moderation in thought and deed, of forbearance toward one's fellow men. These were qualities sadly lacking in my furious youth.
I have come also to acknowledge the great illusion which lies in the pursuit of a purely material goal. What slight satisfaction lies in temporal honour and worldly grandeur! What sad futility in that frantic desire for gain which possesses the money-changers of the world, snatching for little scraps of printed paper, feeding an appetite never satisfied! All the material possessions for which I strove so strenuously mean less to me now than a glance of love from those who are dear to me.
Above all am I convinced of the need, irrevocable and inescapable, of every human heart, for God. No matter how we try to escape, to lose ourselves in restless seeking, we cannot separate ourselves from our divine source. There is no substitute for God. Though we may