Last Sunday, which was as beautiful as a day in Spring, I spent part of the afternoon basking in the sunshine which carpeted my back yard. While listlessly looking at first one thing and then another I noticed a solitary li ttle leaf being tremblingly swayed by the gentle wind, until finally it slowly and gracefully fluttered to the waiting arems of the ground, at whith place it joined the ranks of its comrades. At first, I thought of Oliver Wendell Holmes' poem, "The Last Leaf", and became somewhat saddened, but perhaps it was the loftiness that surrounded me or perhaps it was the beauty of the day; something that most assuredly changed my mood of sadness to one of exultation because it occurred to me that the leaf really wasn't dead. True, it had completed its brief span of existence on the bough of the tree but now, it was expanding into a broader field for its very decay meant it would help to enrich the soil and become a part of toher leaves and plants and trees. My deduction from this was, that nothing is ever destroyed.

Just as the leaf lives on and on and on, so does the Soul. It cannot die. I cannot make bold as to what it looks like; I will not attempt to exaggerate as to what it feels like, but I know, and you know that it is there; that a small voice within us that ever tends towards the good and beautiful, is a thing that is untouchable. That voice is God's; in fact, it is He, or a part of Him within us. How do I know it is Immortal? In the first place, whether sleeping or wakin g, it is omnipresent. It is always with us. In the second place, even the hardest criminal can be touched somewhere, sometime, at some place. We say it may be remembrance of his mother, or his childhood days, or the tender caress of a little child. Bu t what makes him hearken unto these remembrances? Let me tell you, it is the Immortality of his Soul. Nothing can kill it-it is ever exalted, imperishable, and even while the body is aiding vegetation the Soul returns to Him and lives on and on.