The Treasures by the Wayside

A Tale for Sorrow

The sky was dull, the scene was wild,
I wander’d up the mountain way;
And with me went a joyous child,
The man in thought, the child at play,

My heart was sad with many a grief;
Mine eyes with former tears were dim;
The child!—a stone, a flower, a leaf,
Had each its fairy wealth to him!

From time to time, unto my side
He bounded back to show the treasure;
I was not hard enough to chide,
Nor wise enough to share his pleasure.

We paused at last—the child began
Again his sullen guide to tease;
“They say you are a learnèd man—
So look, and tell me what are these?”

Aroused with pain, my listless eyes
The various spoils scarce wander o’er;
Than straight they hail a sage’s prize
In what seem’d infant toys before:

This herb was one the glorious Swede
Had given a garden’s wealth to find;
That stone had harden’d round a weed
The earliest deluge left behind.

Fit stores for science, Discontent
Had pass’d unheeding on the wild;
And Nature had her wonders lent
As things of gladness to the child!

Thus, through the present, Sorrow goes,
And sees its barren self alone;
While healing in the leaflet grows,
And Time blooms back within the stone.

O Thou, so prodigal of good,
Whose wisdom with delight is clad;
How clear should be to Gratitude
The golden duty—to be glad!