PRAYER is the substance of eternal life. It gives back to man, in so far as he is willing to live to capacity—that is to say, to give love and suffer pain—the beatitude without which he is incomplete; for it sets going, deepens and at last perfects that mutual in dwelling of two orders which redeems us from un reality, and in which the creative process reaches its goal. There is, as Bremond has said, even in the poorest and crudest prayer “a touch of Pentecost.” It awaits and