"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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