O God, let me not whine with complaint and say: “Thou hast kept me yoked to the heavy demands of flesh-needs, hunger and earthly comforts.” I blame no business man for being busy. Hast Thou not kept the bee busy? the rain, watering the life-yielding crops? and the dark water-wagons of the skies sprinkling life-liquid to thirsty greens?
The Master Potter of life molded earth’s clay-ball, and is ever busy whirling it round its orbit , keeping it ray-strung to the sun and revolving in rhythm around it.
The Cosmic Potter forms the fragile vessels of flesh by the trillions, from His wheel of life. The amoeba, the whippoorwill, and the gigantic, fiery-eyed planets, growling in the forest of space — all are leashed to do some of His work.
Even the fickle fire of the sky has to help in the spraying of showers.
O Lord of all Life, Thou art the busiest of all Thy workers. Thou art ever alert, noting the fall of a sparrow, attending the slightest scratch of flesh and coursing the path of meteors.
Thou art producing everything out of Thine unseen creation-factory. Thou art the Maker and Displayer of Thy nature-products, and Thou art the Divine Salesman, selling health, mental electricity, and nuggets of wisdom to us.
And Thou dost make us pay for everything! We pay in effort for hygienic living and for acquiring right food with which to buy health. We pay coins of culture to Thee to receive the current of power which lights our cozy mental cottage. And we pay nuggets of devotion, perchance, to hold Thee.
We can buy all other things by paying something for them; but I am sure Thou art not for sale, though Thou art well aware that some people try to buy Thee.
O Priceless One, Thou canst not be bought; there is no par value on Thee.
Yet Thou dost freely give Thyself when we know that we are Thy children: heirs of Thy all-containing kingdom and of Thyself.