The Olive Tree

Said an ancient hermit, bending Half in prayer upon his knee, "Oil I need for midnight watching, I desire an olive tree."

Then he took a tender sapling, Planted it before his cave, Spread his trembling hands above it, As his benison he gave.

But he thought, the rain it needeth, That the root may drink and swell; "God! I pray Thee send Thy showers!" So a gentle shower fell.

"Lord, I ask for beams of summer, Cherishing this little child." Then the dripping clouds divided, And the sun looked down and smiled.

"Send it frost to brace its tissues, O my God!" the hermit cried. Then the plant was bright and hoary, But at evensong it died.

Went the hermit to a brother Sitting in his rocky cell: "Thou an olive tree possessest; How is this, my brother, tell?

"I have planted one, and prayed, Now for sunshine, now for rain; God hath granted each petition, Yet my olive tree hath slain!"

Said the other, "I entrusted To its God my little tree; He who made knew what it needed, Better than a man like me.

"Laid I on him no condition, Fixed no ways and means; so I Wonder not my olive thriveth, Whilst thy olive tree did die."