Excerpt from Quiet Talks About Life After Death

The world is still in the back-wash of the war. The big boat's gone by, but the suction behind at her stern is terrific. And we're all having a time of it trying to sail across its rough wake.

Whether it's statescraft, or what passes for statescraft, or economics, or just plain bread and bed and coal, we've all got our hands full, clean to the fingertips, trying to keep afloat, and not to be sucked under, either financially or morally. For these seem the two deepest suctions in the wake of the boat.

Religion's in the tug, too, or rather, religious moorings. The real thing itself is safe enough. But our connections sometimes seem pretty shifty and uncertain.

No statistics can count up the dead. Violence and disease, gaunt want and strain, have formed their old alliance, not to mention what's going on all the time. And their slain outdo our figuring.

We're close up to old Egyptian times, - "Not a house where there was not one dead, " almost, ofttimes more than that. And the pull upon one's emotional nature is tremendous, while brave hearts go bravely on doing faithfully the day's common tasks.

But to countless numbers the questions, the old questions, old as time almost, keep pushing in night and day: Where is he? Is there life beyond? If so, where and what?

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