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We are between Scylla and Charybdis. The murky vital belabours us when we are in with God. And when we are in with the lurid vital the Grace of God eludes us. Our friendship or enmity with either of the two is but a rope of sand. O God, we have measured the strength of our prayer. And now we find that our prayer is as invalid as a man whose one foot is in the grave and it is as poor as a church-rat. O merciful Lord and God, do don the robe of the supreme Liberator and Redeemer.