This is not life; this being is not enough. But thou art life, and thou hast life for me.
Thou mad’st the worm—to cast the wormy slough,
And fly abroad—a glory flit and flee.
Thou hast me, statue-like, hewn in the rough,
Meaning at last to shape me perfectly.
Lord, thou hast called me forth, I turn and call on thee.
– George MacDonald