 | THE WATER-BEARER. Water-drops |  |
11. THE WATER-BEARER.
I saw a child, who towards his cottage-home
Two water-buckets bare. The winding path
Was steep and rocky, and his slender arm
Taxed to its utmost power. Awhile he paused,
Setting his burden down, just where the way
Grew more precipitous, and wiped his brow
With his worn sleeve, and breathed refreshing draughts
Of the sweet air, while still the summer sun
Flamed o'er his forehead.
Then, another boy,
Who, 'neath a poplar, in a neighboring field,
Sate playing with his dog in cool repose,
Uprising from that grassy nook, came forth,
And lent a ready hand to aid the toil.
So on they went together, grasping firm
The heavy buckets with a right good will,
While their young voices blended, clear and glad.
And as the bee inhales from humblest flower
Sown by the wayside, honey for her hive,—
I treasured up a lesson; and when eve
Called home the laboring ox, and to its nest
Warned the sweet bird, and closed the lily's cup,
Two water-buckets bare. The winding path
Was steep and rocky, and his slender arm
Taxed to its utmost power. Awhile he paused,
Setting his burden down, just where the way
Grew more precipitous, and wiped his brow
With his worn sleeve, and breathed refreshing draughts
Of the sweet air, while still the summer sun
Flamed o'er his forehead.
Then, another boy,
Who, 'neath a poplar, in a neighboring field,
Sate playing with his dog in cool repose,
Uprising from that grassy nook, came forth,
And lent a ready hand to aid the toil.
So on they went together, grasping firm
The heavy buckets with a right good will,
While their young voices blended, clear and glad.
And as the bee inhales from humblest flower
Sown by the wayside, honey for her hive,—
I treasured up a lesson; and when eve
Called home the laboring ox, and to its nest
Warned the sweet bird, and closed the lily's cup,
76
I took my little son upon my knee,
And told him of the water-bearer's toil,
And of the friendly helper.
When his eye
Grew large, and bright, and strongly fixed on mine,
Taking the story to his inmost thought,
I said,—“Drink thou the water from the spring,
That God hath made, and not the fiery cup
Of evil men, that burns the shrinking soul.
My gentle child, be pitiful to all,
For in thy heart are seeds of sympathy,
Whose buds are virtues and their fruit for heaven.
And when thou art a man, my blessed one,
Keep thy fresh spirit open to the woes
Of foreigner and stranger, of the race
Darken'd by Afric's sun, or those sad tribes
The red-brow'd people of the wilderness,
Lone exiles from those streams and forest-glades
That erst they call'd their own.
With ready hand
Help whosoe'er thou canst.
So, mayst thou find
Succor and love, in thine own hour of need,
If on thy heart, as on a signet-ring,
Is grav'd that precept from a Rock divine,
`Bear one another's burdens, and fulfil
The law of Christ.”'
And told him of the water-bearer's toil,
And of the friendly helper.
When his eye
Grew large, and bright, and strongly fixed on mine,
Taking the story to his inmost thought,
I said,—“Drink thou the water from the spring,
That God hath made, and not the fiery cup
Of evil men, that burns the shrinking soul.
My gentle child, be pitiful to all,
For in thy heart are seeds of sympathy,
Whose buds are virtues and their fruit for heaven.
And when thou art a man, my blessed one,
Keep thy fresh spirit open to the woes
Of foreigner and stranger, of the race
Darken'd by Afric's sun, or those sad tribes
The red-brow'd people of the wilderness,
Lone exiles from those streams and forest-glades
That erst they call'd their own.
With ready hand
Help whosoe'er thou canst.
So, mayst thou find
Succor and love, in thine own hour of need,
If on thy heart, as on a signet-ring,
Is grav'd that precept from a Rock divine,
`Bear one another's burdens, and fulfil
The law of Christ.”'
| THE WATER-BEARER. Water-drops | |