Yea, if it please my sire that his infinite be awful to me, yet will I face it, for it is his.

Let your prayer, my son, be like this:'O Maker of me, go on making me, and let me help thee.

Come, O Father! here I am; let us go on.

I know that my words are those of a child, but it is thy child who prays to thee.

It is thy dark I walk in; it is thy hand I hold.'" The words of his teacher sank into the heart of Cosmo, for his spirit was already in the lofty condition of capacity for receiving wisdom direct from another.
It is a lofty condition, and they who scorn it but show they have not reached it--nor are likely to reach it soon.