|["Turn your loneliness into solitude, and your solitude into prayer." -E. Elliott]|
A college friend of mine shared with me one of their favorite spots, a lake I never knew existed until just a few weeks ago. I've discovered a time in my weekly schedule to where I can put everything else down and spend a couple of hours down at the beautiful waters. As I scribbed away in my journal this morning, my thoughts and prayer were parallel to the words penned by Horatius Bonar, words with which I will leave you this weekend:
In the still air the music lies unheard;
In the rough marble beauty hides unseen.
To make the music and the beauty needs
The Master's touch, the Sculptor's chisel keen.
Great Master, touch us with Thy skillful hands;
Let not the music that is in us die;
Great Sculptor, hew and polish us, nor let
Hidden and lost, Thy form within us lie.
Spare not the stroke; do with us what Thou wilt;
Let there be naught unfinished, broken, marred;
Complete Thy purpose that we may become
Thy perfect image - Thou our God and Lord.