God leaned forward in His throne and bent His all-seeing gaze upon one
of the least of the countless suns. A few tiny planets spun slowly about
it like dead leaves around a deserted camp-fire.
Almost the smallest of these planets had named itself the Earth. The
glow of the central cinder brightened one side and they called that Day.
And where the shadow was was Night.
The creeping glimmer of Day woke, as it passed, a jangle in shops and
factories, a racket and hurry of traffic, war and business, which the
coming of the gloom hushed in its turn. As God's eyes pierced the shadow
they found, between the dotted lines of street-lamps and under the roofs
where the windows glimmered--revelry or solemnity. In denser shadows
there was a murmur of the voices of lovers and of families at peace or
at war.
The All-hearing heard no chaos in this discord, but knew each instrument
and understood each melody, concord, and clash. Loudest of all were the
silences or the faint whimperings of those who knelt by their beds and
bent their brows toward their own bosoms, communing with the various
selves that they interpreted as the one God. He knew who prayed for
what, and He answered each in His own wisdom, knowing that He would seem
to have answered none and knowing why.
Among the multitudinous prayers one group arrived at His throne from
separate places, but linked together by their contradictions. He heard
the limping effort to be formal as before a king or a court of justice.
He heard the anxious fear break through the petition; He heard the
selfish eagerness trembling in the pious phrases of altruism. He
understood.