“Father! This child is beautiful!” I said.
My Father just smiled and patted my head.
“Oh Father, she's perfect in every line!
I've not seen a sculpture ever this fine.”
“I'm glad thou dost like her, my Child.” said He.
Then He picked her up and said “Here, she's for thee.”
My arms outstretched in eager delight.
My eyes matched the statue's, glistening and bright.
“But Father, thou knowest every sculptor of fame
Bestows on his best works a beautiful name.
What hast thou named this sweet statue of mine?”
“She is Disciple of Love Divine.”
“Love Divine… why, that's thee Father! Now I see.
But why gift this perfect creation to me?
And what of the tears? There are tears in her eyes;
And for one so little, her tears are life size.”
“The tears too, my Child, were wrought by my hand
Deeply, but tenderly. They're part of my plan.
The statues for thee, Child, surely now thou canst see
The resemblance this little girl bears? For she's thee!
She didn't start out as she looks here today.
To begin she was just rough hewn stone and wet clay;
But I labored and loved, as with thee I do,
And though it hurt I persisted, and will with thee too.
Thou too wilt be perfect one day by and by,
And part of perfection are the tears thou dost cry.
So when thou art discouraged, and don't understand,
Love Divine will remind thee thou art still in my hands.
I'm still deeply, tenderly working on thee
To make thee more perfect than even she.”