 | The Poems of A. C. Benson |  |
93
SEEDS
One fell in the dull ground, and hopeless lay
Hearing the secret waters murmuring;
Till his dark life was quickened by the spring,
And with soft hands he climbed to meet the day.
Hearing the secret waters murmuring;
Till his dark life was quickened by the spring,
And with soft hands he climbed to meet the day.
And one was winnowed in his nakedness,
And in the humming mill was bruised and rolled,
And indistinguishably bought and sold,
To feed the folk that toiled in heaviness.
And in the humming mill was bruised and rolled,
And indistinguishably bought and sold,
To feed the folk that toiled in heaviness.
The choice is ours: we know not which to ask;
For either way is bounteous, either blest;
To feed the frail, to give high hearts relief;
And each were well; but oh, the matchless grief,
To fail and falter in the heavenly quest,
And miss meanwhile the homely humble task!
For either way is bounteous, either blest;
To feed the frail, to give high hearts relief;
And each were well; but oh, the matchless grief,
To fail and falter in the heavenly quest,
And miss meanwhile the homely humble task!
| The Poems of A. C. Benson | |