Some of her dearest ones call her "selfish" because she thinks
so much of herself she spends her whole time helping others. She represents
the composite beauty, sweetness, and nobility of all those who scorn self
for the sake of love and her handmaiden duty--of all those who seek the
brightness of truth not as the moth to be destroyed thereby, but as the
lark who soars and sings to the great sun. She is of those who have so much
to give they want no time to take, and their name is legion. She is as full
of beautiful possibilities as a perfect harp, and she realizes that all the
harmonies of the universe are in herself, while her own soul plays upon
magic strings the unwritten anthems of love. She is the apostle of the
true, the beautiful, the good, commissioned to complete all that the twelve
have left undone. Hers is the mission of missions--the highest of all--to
make the body not the prison, but the palace of the soul, with the brain
for its great white throne.
When she comes like the south wind into the cold haunts of sin and sorrow,
her words are smiles and her smiles are the sunlight which heals the
stricken soul. Her hand is tender--but steel tempered with holy resolve,
and as one whom her love had glorified once said--she is soft and gentle,
but you could no more turn her from her course than winter could stop the
coming of spring.
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