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The Elm Seed
Scattered, with every breeze, I see them flyThis way and that upon the Summer air;
Trodden to dust beneath our feet they lie,
Yet not without the great Creator's care!
Some single seed his Providence directs,
That Providence, which guards & governs all;
The tiny germ through Winter it protects,
And, in the Spring-time, from its grave will call.
No more a seed; but now a growing tree,
Though scarce its slender form at first is seen;
Still, nourished & sustained, in time 'twill be
A mighty elm; from Summer's suns a screen
To man and beast, that seek its friendly shade;
And birds, that, in its boughs, their nests have made.
Poem No. 411; c. 17 June 1862
| Jones Very : The Complete Poems | |