Our God, He is real, He who made all things, and He only is Love." Now life takes us by the neck and shows us a few other things,--new-made graves with the red sand flying about them; eyes that we love with the worms eating them; evil men walking sleek and fat, the whole terrible hurly-burly of the thing called life,--and she says, "What do you think of these ?" We dare not say "Nothing." We feel them; they are very real.
But we try to lay our hands about and feel that other thing we felt before.

In the dark night in the fuel-room we cry to our Beautiful dream-god: "Oh, let us come near you, and lay our head against your feet.

Now in our hour of need be near us." But He is not there; He is gone away.

The old questioning devil is there.
We must have been awakened sooner or later.

The imagination cannot always triumph over reality, the desire over truth.