One prayed in vain to paint the vision blest
Which shone upon his heart by night and day,
For homely duties in his dwelling pressed,
And hungry hearts which would not turn away,
And cares which still his eager hands bade stay,
The canvas never knew the pictured Face,
But year by year, while yet the vision shone,
An angel near him, wondering, bent to trace
On his own life the Master’s image grown,
And unto men made known.
God does not make us all at once. The process is a long one, running through all the years of our life, how many so ever these years may be. God begins making us when we are born into the world, and His work on us and in us goes on continuously unto the end of our days. There is never an hour when some new touch is not given to our life, some new line marked in our character. A thousand agencies and influences minister in the making of us – the mother, the father, the home, the school, the playground, the church, books, companions, friends and friendships, joys and sorrows, successes, failures, health, sickness, roses and briars – all life’s circumstances and events. These things all work upon us, yet not blindly, not without guidance. Always God is on the field, and He works in and through all experiences, unless we drive Him out of our life, so that really it is He who makes us. But there is no period in all the years when we can say that God has finished making us. We are always still in process of being made.
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