Song Of Life

  A traveller on a dusty road     Strewed 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 heights 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 scooped a well     Where weary men might turn,   He walled it in, and hung with care     A ladle on the brink;   He thought not of the deed he did,     But judged that Toil might drink.   He passed again; and lo! the well,     By summer never dried,   Had cooled ten thousand parchéd tongues,     And saved a life beside.   A nameless man, amid the crowd     That thronged 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. CHARLES MACKAY