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Beneath the husks of discontent is hid a grain, a grain beyond price—Content.

To find it endows with blessing, for its possession means that the nucleus of a continual round of experiences is reached.

Covered by a gigantic husk, a husk of many husks, the separating of each is a task accomplished, but not until every husk is torn away, can we know the golden grain. Put it into our hands unsought, give us a glimpse of its beauty, yet not in a thousand years shall we know its worth, save by labor. Without the effort of peeling off first one and then another husk in the points of our experience, it remains unknown.

Our fault is laxity of effort. We tear apart husk after husk, then rest awhile in false security; meantime others grow—accretions resulting from abandoned effort.

Beneath the continual shedding of husks we find the ripening of one condition into another —the refining of the individual nature by the elimination of falsities—until sweet content is ours.

Discontent in some forms paralyses effort.

Oftentimes the awakening of higher thoughts produces reaction, but earnest endeavor removes the forbidding cloak of discontent.

Again, we try to add too rapidly to our moral and spiritual stature, only to find that gradual and steady efforts How into the eternal way.

"I stay my haste, I make delays,
For what avails this eager pace?
I stand amid the eternal ways,
And what is mine shall know my face."

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