Pilgrim's Path Daily

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

DAILY POEM

"It is the branch that bears the fruit, that feels the knife, to prune it for a larger growth, a fuller life.

"Though every budding twig be lopped, and every grace of swaying tendril, springing leaf, be lost a space.

"O thou whose life of joy seems reft, of beauty shorn; whose aspirations lie in dust, all bruised and torn, rejoice, tho each desire, each dream, each hope of thine shall fall and fade; it is the hand of Love Divine...

"... that holds the knife, that cuts and breaks with tenderest touch, that thou, whose life has born some fruit - mayest now bear much!"

--Annie Johnson Flint

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