* * * * *

A faint murmur ran through the assembly.

Then spoke the Father:  “Whom shall I send?”

One arose, like unto the Father—­a majestic form, meek, yet noble—­the Son; and thus he spoke: 

“Father, here am I, send me.  Thy will be done, and the glory be thine forever.”

Then another arose.  Erect and proud he stood.  His eyes flashed, his lip curled in scorn.  Bold in his bearing, brilliant and influential, Lucifer, the Son of the Morning, spoke: 

“Behold I, send me.  I will be thy son, and I will redeem all mankind, that not one soul shall be lost; and surely I will do it; wherefore, give me thine honor.”

Then spoke one as with authority: 

“Lucifer, thy plan would destroy the agency of man—­his most priceless gift.  It would take away his means of eternal advancement.  Your offer cannot be accepted.”

The Father looked out over the vast throng; then clearly the words rang out: 

“I will send the first!”

But the haughty spirit yielded not.  His countenance became fiercer in its anger, and as he strode from the assembly, many followed after him.

Then went the news abroad throughout heaven of the council and the Father’s proposed plan; of Christ’s offer, and Lucifer’s rebellious actions.  The whole celestial realm was agitated, and contention and strife began to wage among the children of God.

Returning from the council chamber of the celestial glance through the paths of the surrounding gardens, came two sons of God.  Apparently, the late events had affected them greatly.  The assembly had dispersed, and, save now and then a fleeting figure, they were alone.  They were engaged in earnest conversation.

“But, Brother Sardus,” said one, “how can you look at it in that light?  Lucifer was surely in the wrong.  And then, how haughty and overbearing he was.”

“I cannot agree with you, Homan.  We have a right to think and to act as we please, and I consider Lucifer in the right.  Think of this magnificent offer, to bring back in glory to Father’s presence, every one of His children, and that, too, without condition on their part.”

“There!  He, and you with him, talk about your rights to think and act as you please.  Have you not that right?  Have you not used it freely in refusing to listen to Father’s counsel?  Do not I exercise it in that I listen and agree with Him?  But let me tell you, brother, what your reasoning will lead to.”

“I know it—­but go on.”

“No, you do not; you do not seem to understand.”

“Perhaps you will explain,” said the other haughtily.

“Brother, be not angry.  It is because of my love for you that I speak thus.  It is evident that we, in that future world of experience and trial, will retain our agencies to choose between the opposites that will be presented to us.  Without that privilege, we should cease to be intelligences, and become as inanimate things.  How could we be proved without this power?  How could we make any progress without it?”