Little at First, but Great at Last

A traveller through a dusty road,
Strew'd acorns on the lea;
And one took root, and sprouted up,
And grew into a tree.
Love sought its shade at evening time,
To breathe its early vows,
And Age was pleased, in heats of noon,
To bask beneath its boughs.
The dormouse loved its dangling twigs,
The birds sweet music bore; —
It stood a glory in its place,
A blessing evermore!

A little spring had lost its way
Amid the grass and fern;
A passing stranger scoop'd a well,
Where weary men might turn;
He wall'd it in, and hung with care
A ladle at the brink, —
He thought not of the deed he did,
But judged that toil might drink.
He pass'd again — and lo! the well,
By summers never dried,
Had cool'd ten thousand parching tongues,
And saved a life beside.

A dreamer dropp'd a random thought,
'Twas old, and yet was new, —
A simple fancy of the brain,
But strong in being true;
It shone upon a genial mind,
And lo! its light became
A lamp of life, a beacon ray,
A monitory flame.
The thought was small — its issue great
A watch-fire on the hill,
It sheds its radiance far adown,
And cheers the valley still!

A nameless man, amid a crowd
That throng'd the daily mart,
Let fall a word of Hope and Love,
Unstudied from the heart;
A whisper on the tumult thrown —
A transitory breath —
It raised a brother from the dust, —
It saved a soul from death.
O germ! O fount! O word of love!
O thought at random cast!
Ye were but little at the first,
But mighty at the last!