  Old Brown Brier lived in the depths of a wood, Close down by a sassafras tree; Jealous, and selfish, and hostile to all, A surly old fellow was he. He hated his neighbor, the sassafras-tree, When her leaves grew green in the spring, And he almost perished with envy and spite, When he heard an oriole sing. But one thing saved him, and only one, From a life of sorrow and woe; He longed for a change in his hermit life, And a power in himself to grow. A fair young child to the green-wood came, With eyes like the gentian blue; Her hair was like threads of an amber flame, And her cheek wore the sunset hue. Her step was light as the bounding roe, And her voice like a silver bell; She charmed the birds from their green retreats, And the squirrel from his cell. She sang of the love, of the free, great love, Which the Father has for all, From the worlds of light, in the heavens above, To the flowers and the insects small. “Ah!” sighed the Brier, the brown old Brier, “What has he done for me?” Does he give me leaves in the early spring, Or flowers like the locust tree?” “Our God is just, and our God is true,” Still warbled the happy child; “He sendeth his sunshine and silver dew To the desert and lonely wild; And the secret force in the tempest cloud To the smallest flower is given, That all, by his wisdom and strength endowed, May live for the Lord of Heaven.” She passed. The old Brier was lost in thought. “And is it, then, really so? Can this wondrous change by myself be wrought? Have I power in myself to grow?” Then up from the gray old mother Earth Rich juices he quickly drew, Till the sluices and channels small were filled With the fresh sap trickling through. He called to the winds, to the warm spring winds, As they played with the flowers near by, And he prayed the sunshine, with golden wings, On his cold, damp roots to lie. The spring winds blew, and the sunshine came, And the Brier grew fresh and fair, Till his blossoms, like wreaths of incense cups, With their fragrance filled the air. Again the child to the green-wood came; But her step was sad and slow; Her eye beamed not with its love-lit flame, And her voice was soft and low. “I am changed,” she said; “O ye birds and flowers! With a yearning heart I weep To lay me down in these quiet bowers, In a long, untroubled sleep. For O, my heart like a flower is crushed, And I cling to the world no more; The sacred fount from its urn hath gushed, And the joy of my life is o’er.” The summer winds through the green-wood passed, And the sweet Brier bowed his head; A garland fair at her feet he cast, And in gentle tones he said,— “Return to the world, dear child, return; No longer receive, but give! From a humble Brier this lesson learn: Thou hast power in thyself to live. |
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