  CHILD. “River, river, stay and tell me, Whither going with such speed?” RIVER. “No, I cannot stop, for onward I must go, the sea to feed. I am one of many others,— To the same great deep we go, Pouring into it for ever, Yet it doth not overflow.” CHILD. “Little brook, stay still a moment, Dancing neath the summer sun, With such sweet and pleasant music, Tell me, whither do you run?” BROOK. “I am hastening to the river, And I cannot longer stay, I am one of many others, Who must feed it day by day.” CHILD. “Little rill, which down the mountain, Like a silver thread dost flow, Tell me now before you leave me, Why you are in haste to go?” RILL. “Downward, downward, little maiden, Is a voice that bids me speed, Where a little brook is waiting, Which my limpid drops must feed. I am one of many others, And when Spring’s first hours awake, Into life and motion springing, To the plains our course we take.” CHILD. “Rain-drops, which so fast are falling, Patter, patter, on the ground, Much I love to stand and watch you, Much I love your merry sound; But I pray you stop and tell me, On what mission you are bound?” RAIN. “Humble as our mission seemeth, Maiden, to your thoughtful eye, Yet for good, by God’s appointment, Drop by drop, I fall from high; And, without me, mightiest rivers Soon would leave their channels dry.” Musing, then, the little maiden, Inward for a moral turned, Where, to light the spirit temple, Truth upon her altar burned. “Rain,” she said, “from heaven descending, Feeds the little fountain rill: Onward, onward, all are hastening, Never for a moment still. Rill, and brook, and mighty river, All to the deep ocean go; All the thirsty river swallows,— Yet it doth not overflow.” Child, thou seekest from this a moral, Ask of Truth, and thou shalt know. |
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