the Sunday noon
It is so sure that nothing so instantly brings the heavenly power to bear upon a soul as contact with a humanity in which it already abides and rules . She wanted this girl to touch the hem of a garment of earthly living , with which it had clothed itself to do a work in the world . For the Christ still finds and puts such garments on to walk the earth ; the seamless robes of undivided consecration to Himself . As Desire crossed to Borden Street , and went on up the hill , there came suddenly to her mind recollection of the Sunday noon , years since , when she had walked over that same sidewalk with Kenneth Kincaid ; when he had urged her to take up Mission work , and she had answered him with her girlish bluffness , that `` she thought he did not approve of brokering business ; it was all there , why should they not take it for themselves ? Why should she set up to go between ? '' She thought how she had learned , since , the beautiful links of endless ministry ; the prismatic law of mediation , -- that there is no tint or shade of spiritual being , no angle at which any soul catches the Divine beam , that does not join and melt into the next above and the next below ; that the farther apart in the spectrum of humanity the red of passion and the violet of peace , the more place and need for every subdivided ray , to help translate the whole story of the pure , whole whiteness . She remembered what she had said another time about `` seeing blue , and living red . ''