 | The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince |  |
263
WEEDS AND FLOWERS.
Well spake the ancient gardener
Unto the lady gay,
Who came to view his handiwork
One February day.
His parterres were all overrun
With many a useless thing,
And he had only just begun
To trim them for the Spring.
“How fast this tangled rubbish breeds,
Even in the wintry hours!”
“Ah, yes!” quoth he,
With roguish glee,
“The soil is mother to the weeds,
But only step-dame to the flowers!”
Unto the lady gay,
Who came to view his handiwork
One February day.
His parterres were all overrun
With many a useless thing,
And he had only just begun
To trim them for the Spring.
“How fast this tangled rubbish breeds,
Even in the wintry hours!”
“Ah, yes!” quoth he,
With roguish glee,
“The soil is mother to the weeds,
But only step-dame to the flowers!”
And so it is in many a home;
Where'er we chance to turn,
Some wayward and unruly child
Will make his mother mourn;
Yet she will give him her chief love,
Her closest watch and care;
While the docile and dutiful
Receive the lesser share.
Perchance she feeleth that he needs
Her best maternal powers;
And proves anew
The saying true—
“The soil is mother to the weeds,
But only step-dame to the flowers!”
Where'er we chance to turn,
Some wayward and unruly child
Will make his mother mourn;
Yet she will give him her chief love,
Her closest watch and care;
While the docile and dutiful
Receive the lesser share.
Perchance she feeleth that he needs
Her best maternal powers;
264
The saying true—
“The soil is mother to the weeds,
But only step-dame to the flowers!”
So in the mixed and mighty world,
From some continuous cause
A multitude go all astray,
And violate its laws;
While poverty and misery
Spring up on every side,
As if to choke the very path
Of gorgeous wealth and pride.
Since effort but in part succeeds
Against this bane of ours,
Well may we say,
From day to day,
“The soil is mother to the weeds,
But only step-dame to the flowers!”
From some continuous cause
A multitude go all astray,
And violate its laws;
While poverty and misery
Spring up on every side,
As if to choke the very path
Of gorgeous wealth and pride.
Since effort but in part succeeds
Against this bane of ours,
Well may we say,
From day to day,
“The soil is mother to the weeds,
But only step-dame to the flowers!”
Among the countless worshippers
Of Heaven's supernal Lord,
What difference and intolerance,
Where all should well accord;
Some calmly, wisely, stand apart
From the unhallowed strife;
While some would shut their brother out
From the eternal life.
Since thus amid conflicting creeds
Insidious evil cowers,
Well may we sigh,
And inly cry—
“The soil is mother to the weeds,
But only step-dame to the flowers!”
Of Heaven's supernal Lord,
What difference and intolerance,
Where all should well accord;
Some calmly, wisely, stand apart
From the unhallowed strife;
While some would shut their brother out
From the eternal life.
Since thus amid conflicting creeds
Insidious evil cowers,
Well may we sigh,
And inly cry—
“The soil is mother to the weeds,
But only step-dame to the flowers!”
| The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince | |