Each branch of a vine is bound to a certain point of its wall or
its conservatory. It is not growing just where and how it would
spontaneously and naturally choose, but is affixt there contrary
to its natural bent, in order that it may catch the sunbeams
at that point and cover that spot with beautiful foliage and
luscious fruit.
Sorrow is like the nail that compels the branch to grow in that
direction; inevitable circumstance is like the rough strip of
fiber which bends the branch, and pain is like the restraint
which is suffered by the branch which would have liked to wander
at its own will. We are not to murmur or repine at our lot in
life, but are to remember that God has appointed it and placed
us there. (Text.)
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