It is a vital crescent quality as staunch as the oak and as
graceful as the rainbow. It evermore stands upon a pedestal, and a host of
devotees do it homage. It is as majestic and beautiful as the iceberg but
as warm-hearted as love. It has reserve, and yet it attracts rather than
repels. A thousand influences are poured into the alembic of the spirit,
and serenity issues forth in modest splendor.
This quality of the spirit both betokens and embodies power, and power
governs the universe. Its power is not that of the storm that harries and
devastates, but rather that of the sunshine that fructifies, purifies,
chastens, and ripens. It does not rush or crash into a situation but
steals in as quietly as the dawn, without noise or bombast, and, by its
gentle influence, softens asperities and wins a smile from the face of
sorrow, or discouragement, or anger. Its presence transforms discord into
harmony, irradiates gloom, and evokes rare flowers from the murky soil of
discontent. Whatever storms may rage elsewhere and whatever darkness may
enshroud, it ever keeps its place as the center of a circle of calm and
light. It is Venus of Milo come to life, silently distilling the beauty
and splendor of living. In its presence harshness becomes gentleness,
hysteria becomes equanimity, and sound becomes silence. From its presence
vaunting and vainglory and arrogance hasten away to be with their own
kind.
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