How did Morrison manage it all? First and foremost was the old, obvious commonplace of work. Marcus Dods once said: "Nothing will persuade me that a minister's life is healthy if he is not working hard for a certain number of hours each day in his study," and then he went on to picture a minister who lets the morning slip away as he lingers over his newspaper and his gossip with Mr. Fritterday and hardly does a decent hand's turn from breakfast to dinner. So his whole life goes and when he dies, his people regret the loss of a goodhearted kindly friend, but they inwardly resolve that, whatever their next minister is, he shall at all events be a student. Morrison was always that. He was an omnivorous reader, with a library of six thousand volumes.

To industry he added method. He knew where to lay his hand on every book and paper without a moment's delay. He left nothing in his sentences or in his congregation's affairs at loose ends. But neither his industry nor his method would have enabled him to do what he did unless he had stuck to his job. He was not a strong man physically; twice he suffered major illnesses, one of which compelled him to take a year's leave of absence from Wellington. It would have been no satisfaction to him to have gone here, there and everywhere and neglected his own church. Morrison knew his own limitations and wisely kept within them.

The great secret of a happy ministry, Morrison once said, is to be constantly moving among the homes of our people. "I often used to lose the happy freedom of Christian intercourse by the haunting thought that I must get a prayer offered before leaving. I do not worry about that now. I do not believe our Lord had prayer in every house He entered but I profoundly believe that He never entered a house without bringing sunshine, help, encouragement and comfort. If only we could do that. It is not the prayers we offer when visiting that make the difference; it is those we offer before visiting."

Morrison preached children's sermons to which it was a delight to listen. He was never happier or more at home than amongst children, his own or other people's. He could not resist smiling or speaking to every child he met. He was standing in a hospital ward one day speaking to a little boy who was very ill and, after saying a few words of encouragement, left the bedside. Before he reached the door of the ward, the boy's mother appeared and -- full of excitement -- the child said, "Quick, mother, look. That is Dr. Morrison. He has been speaking to me and if Jesus is like him, I'll no be feart to dee."2

Morrison became Moderator of the General Assembly in 1926 and the last four months of his year of office he spent visiting South Africa and the missions in that country. He died suddenly after a gastric operation in October 1928. Almost his last words were: "It's an ever open door, never closed to anyone. It's open to me now and I'm going through."

"In the memorial volume published the year after his death -- with the title The Ever Open Door -- is included the last sermon Morrison prepared. It was preached on the evening of the Harvest Festival. His wife says: "I shall ever remember him as he stood in the golden glow of the hanging lamp, surrounded by a glorious wealth of autumn flowers, fruit and foliage. It seems to me now, looking back, that there was a beautiful significance in the whole circumstance. His text -- 'Cast thy bread upon the waters' -- was typical of what he had been doing with lavish prodigality throughout his ministry; not counting the cost but scattering lavishly the finest of the wheat. Then within a few days he himself, a well-bound sheaf of golden grain, was gathered into that home where all things are made clear and where, at last, a true vision has been granted to him of the harvest of his labors after many days."3