heart, an overflow of tenderness that loves without reckoning, making no difference between the small and the great.

Life is love.

And the secret of woman is the secret of love, for she it is whom the Lord entrusted with love.

Love is light and spirit: a light that calls forth beauty, and a spirit that unites itself with all existing things and gives them life.

Love is a god whose throne is in every place and every time, and whose power lies in generosity and sacrifice — and what love is greater than that a man should give his very self as a ransom for those he loves? Thus did love define itself.

Love is weak: it gives, and asks of you nothing but acceptance. It stands at your beck and call. And yet no will is above its will.

And woman is she whom the Lord set as guardian over this precious trust — love — when He left His Son to her care; and she received love into her heart, and wrapped the Son in her arms, forever: "Be it unto me according to thy word." Then she fell silent, for the greatest trust is kept in the silence of the heart.

And by this Eve rose to a higher rank, for she became the mother of the living through redemption.

By love woman lives; from it she draws her strength, and with it she nourishes the world. Therefore woe to her, and to whoever touches her, when the spring of her heart ceases to flow: for just as water, when it stagnates, becomes a breeding ground for insects, and when it dries up lays bare the filth beneath, so woman, when her love runs dry, turns — and turns everything around her — into a thing that has no name; for feeling becomes poison in her, and life becomes death.

And just as man's reason blows the world apart with burning bombs when it loses love, so woman — with-out love — corrupts life at its very core and tramples underfoot nobility and all that is sacred in man.

And just as man, when he grants woman her own self, safeguards her love so that it opens out into tenderness and kindness and sacrifice, so woman, by love, raises man and rises with him to the level of the free self, and they meet upon one plane, completing one another, united.

And after that, let man's task be what it may, and woman's work whatever circumstances decree: love comes first, and all the rest takes its place by degrees within love's overflow, and becomes love.

Suad Mawhij Saqr Buenos Aires — Argentina

* Little Linda was lying on her back on the floor of the room, singing merrily. When her mother looked over at her again, she was lying on her stomach, humming a new tune. The mother asked:

'Is this a game, dear?'

— 'No, Mama. I'm pretending to be a phonograph record, and now I've been turned over to the other side.'

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