The Weed's Counsel

Said a traveller by the way

Pausing, “What hast thou to say,

Flower by the dusty road,

That would ease a mortal's load?”

Traveller, hearken unto me!

I will tell thee how to see

Beauties in the earth and sky

Hidden from the careless eye.

I will tell thee how to hear

Nature's music wild and clear,—

Songs of midday and of dark

Such as many never mark,

Lyrics of creation sung

Ever since the world was young.

And thereafter thou shalt know

Neither weariness nor woe.

Thou shalt see the dawn unfold

Artistries of rose and gold,

And the sunbeams on the sea

Dancing with the wind for glee.

The red lilies of the moors

Shall be torches on the floors,

Where the field-lark lifts his cry

To rejoice the passer-by,

In a wide world rimmed with blue

Lovely as when time was new.

And thereafter thou shalt fare

Light of foot and free from care.

I will teach thee how to find

Lost enchantments of the mind

All about thee, never guessed

By indifferent unrest.

Thy distracted thought shall learn

Patience from the roadside fern,

And a sweet philosophy

From the flowering locust tree,—

While thy heart shall not disdain

The consolation of the rain.

Not an acre but shall give

Of its strength to help thee live.

With the many-wintered sun

Shall thy hardy course be run.

And the bright new moon shall be

A lamp to thy felicity.

When green-mantled spring shall come

Past thy door with flute and drum,

And when over wood and swamp

Autumn trails her scarlet pomp,

No misgiving shalt thou know,

Passing glad to rise and go.

So thy days shall be unrolled

Like a wondrous cloth of gold.

When gray twilight with her star

Makes a heaven that is not far,

Touched with shadows and with dreams,

Thou shalt hear the woodland streams

Singing through the starry night

Holy anthems of delight.

So the ecstasy of earth

Shall refresh thee as at birth,

And thou shalt arise each morn

Radiant with a soul reborn.

And this wisdom of a day

None shall ever take away.

What the secret, what the clew

The wayfarer must pursue?

Only one thing he must have

Who would share these transports brave.

Love within his heart must dwell

Like a bubbling roadside well,

For a spring to quicken thought,

Else my counsel comes to naught.

For without that quickening trust

We are less than roadside dust.

This, O traveller, is my creed,—

All the wisdom of the weed!

Then the traveller set his pack

Once more on his dusty back,

And trudged on for many a mile

Fronting fortune with a smile.