It is like the ants making all their
clever, laborious plans, knowing nothing of chickens and the gardener's
spade. That is why we have to cling to the life we can order for
ourselves--the life within us. Truth, Justice, Pity. They are the
strong things, the eternal things, the things we've got to sacrifice
ourselves for--serve with our bodies and our souls.
"Don't think me a prig," she pleaded. "I'm talking as if I knew all
about it. I don't really. I grope in the dark; and now and then--at
least so it seems to me--I catch a glint of light. We are powerless in
ourselves. It is only God working through us that enables us to be of
any use. All we can do is to keep ourselves kind and clean and free from
self, waiting for Him to come to us."
The girl rose. "I must be getting back," she said. "Dad will be
wondering where I've got to."
She paused with the door in her hand, and a faint smile played round the
thin red lips.
"Tell me," she said. "What is God?"
"A Labourer, together with man, according to Saint Paul," Joan answered.
The girl turned and went.
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