CLEAR water on smooth rock Could give no foothold for a single flower, Or slenderest shaft of grain: The stone must crumble under storm and rain, The forests crash beneath the whirlwind's power, And broken boughs from many a tempest-shock, And fallen leaves of many a wintry hour, Must mingle in the mould, Before the harvest whitens on the plain, Bearing an hundred-fold. Patience, O weary heart! Let all thy sparkling hours depart, And all thy hopes be withered with the frost, And every effort tempest-tost -- So, when all life's green leaves Are fallen, and mouldered underneath the sod, Thou shalt go not too lightly to thy God, But heavy with full sheaves. |