"'We thank thee that we have a father, and not a maker; that thou hast
begotten us, and not moulded us as images of clay; that we have come forth
of thy heart, and have not been fashioned by thy hands. It _must_ be so.
Only the heart of a father is able to create. We rejoice in it, and bless
thee that we know it. We thank thee for thyself. Be what thou art--our
root and life, our beginning and end, our all in all. Come home to us.
Thou livest; therefore we live. In thy light we see. Thou art--that is all
our song.'
"Thus they worship, and love, and wait. Their hope and expectation grow
ever stronger and brighter, that one day, ere long, the Father will show
Himself amongst them, and thenceforth dwell in His own house for evermore.
What was once but an old legend has become the one desire of their hearts.
"And the loftiest hope is the surest of being fulfilled."
* * * * *
"Thank you, heartily," said the curate. "I will choose another time to
tell you how much I have enjoyed your parable, which is altogether to my
mind, and far beyond anything I could do.
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