All of us at some time in our life become suddenly aware that we are in a strange place called the world. We do not remember coming here and we are not sure when or how we are going to leave. A score of pressing questions fill our minds. We must have the answers. Where did we come from? What are we? Why are we here? Where do we go next? What does God require of us? How can we find the heaven of peace? Such questions as these insist upon an answer. But we have no answer. Then we approach someone who looks as if he might know. We eagerly put our question, but we get only a shake of the head and the usual, "I'm sorry. I'm a stranger here myself." At first we are frightfully disappointed, for we had hoped someone might know. There are the great stone buildings covered with ivy where the best brains of the world hold forth day after day. There are the great libraries piled with solemn books, each filled with learned words. But the desired answer is nowhere. A few attempt to direct us, but prove by their own bewilderment that they know as little as we do about the whole thing. The philosopher seeks, but never finds. The scientist searches, but finds no data to help us beyond the last hour and the narrow house and the shroud. The poet soars on stubby wings, but soon comes down again, tired and confused. Each one has the same answer: "I'm sorry. . . . I'm a stranger here myself."