Tzu Li went to see Tzu Lai who was dying. Leaning against the door, he said, 'Great is the Creator! What will he make of you now? Will he make you into a rat's liver? Will he make you into an insect's leg?' Tzu-Lai replied, 'The universe gave me my body so I may be carried, my life so I may work, my old age so I may repose, and my death so I may rest. To regard life as good is the way to regard death as good. . . . If I regard the universe as a great furnace and creation as a master foundryman, why should anywhere I go not be all right?'
My God, my Father, while I stray Far from home, on life's rough way, O teach me from my heart to say, "Thy will be done." Though dark my path and sad my lot, Let me be still and murmur not; But breathe the prayer divinely taught, "Thy will be done." What though in lonely grief I sigh For friends beloved no longer nigh, Submissive still, would I reply, "Thy will be done." If thou shouldst call me to resign What most I prize-it ne'er was mine, I only yield Thee what was Thine; "Thy will be done." If but my fainting heart be blest With thy sweet spirit for its guest, My God, to Thee I leave the rest; "Thy will be done." Renew my will from day to day; Blend it with Thine, and take away All that now makes it hard to say, "Thy will be done."
Like the musician, the painter, the poet, and the rest, the true lover of flowers is born, not made. And he is born to happiness in this vale of tears, to a certain amount of the purest joy that earth can giver her children, joy that is tranquil, innocent, uplifting, unfailing.