My allotted plot of consciousness was small. Carelessly I let it grow barren; it produced no crops of inner, life‐sustaining culture. Now the bleak winter of dead opportunities approaches with its pall of unproductivity.
My lot is small, and my life’s season is short, yet now I would produce a mighty harvest. I will expand my kingdom of will power. To do so, I must conquer new states of consciousness, enlarge my achievements, and outgrow, in consciousness, every limiting horizon.
But, O Father Divine, there are billions of my hungry thought-families and their little ones to feed! And, for them, I need a big harvest during this short season of my earth‐life.
The irrigating waters of my craving many times grew dry, while my soil of inner culture was left undeveloped. Now I will work all the harder, using the machinery of scientific technique in my search for Thee.
O Divine Sower, with Thine unseen hand throw Thy living seeds of inspiration into the cultivated furrows of my awakened resolution.
In this short, remaining season of my earthly life let me reap the largest harvest of all: Thy cosmic vision!
