A Spring Parable

TILL yesterday one tree was brown,— One only, mid the green of spring; Wearing her dead leaves like a crown She stood, and seemed to gloom and frown On every glad rejoicing thing,

Till yesterday! When, touched at last, The slow buds quickened and uncurled, And the poor tree forgave her past, And learned to hope, and thick and fast Showered her dry leaves on the world.

Swift sudden hope replaced despair; The brown leaves dropped, the green leaves grew, And clothed upon, and fresh and fair, The happy boughs swung all in air, And drank the sunshine and the dew.

Souls have their dead leaves, sere and dry, Dead hopes, dead visions, dead delight, Relics of gladder days gone by, Worthless to every human eye; But yet we clasp the poor things tight,

And feel that life were bare indeed If we should lose them, or let fall, And all the old-time hurts would bleed, And we unwrapped from sorrowing weed Like mourners dragged to carnival.

Then in a moment suddenly God’s blessed sunshine, all unguessed, Reaches and heals our hearts, and we, Tasting its sweetness, know that he Bids us be happy with the rest.