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The Fruit
Thou ripenest the fruits with warmer air,That Summer brings around thy goodly trees;
And Thou wilt grant a summer to my prayer,
And fruit shall glisten from these fluttering leaves;
A fruit that shall not with the winter fail,
He knows no winter who of it shall eat;
But on it lives though outward storm assail,
Till it becomes in time his daily meat;
Then he shall in the fruit I give abound,
And hungry pilgrims hasten to the bough;
Where the true bread of life shall then be found,
Though nought they spy to give upon it now;
But pass it by, with sorrowing hearts that there
But leaves have grown where they the fruit would share.
Poem No. 691; c. January 1839
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