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William Pitt Palmer: Pebble

I am a Pebble! but who art thou, Rattling along from the restless bough?"

The Acorn was shocked at this rude salute, And lay for a moment abashed and mute; She never before had been so near This gravelly ball, the mundane sphere; And she felt for a time at a loss to know How to answer a thing so coarse and low.

But to give reproof of a nobler sort Than the angry look, or the keen retort, At length she said, in a gentle tone, "Since it has happened that I am thrown From the lighter element where I grew, Down to another so hard and new, And beside a personage so august, Abased, I will cover my head with dust, And quickly retire from the sight of one Whom time, nor season, nor storm, nor sun, Nor the gentle dew, nor the grinding heel, Has ever subdued, or made to feel!"

And soon in the earth she sank away From the comfortless spot where the Pebble lay.

But it was not long ere the soil was broke By the peering head of an infant oak !

And, as it arose, and its branches spread, The Pebble looked up, and, wondering, said, "A modest Acorn-never to tell What was enclosed in its simple shell !

That the pride of the forest was folded up In the narrow space of its little cup!

And meekly to sink in the darksome earth, Which proves that nothing could hide her worth!

And, oh! how many will tread on me, To come and admire the beautiful tree, Whose head is towering toward the sky, Above such a worthless thing as I !

Useless and vain, a cumberer here, I have been idling from year to year.

Shall show the purpose for which I've been?".

The Pebble its vow could not forget, And it lies there wrapt in silence yet.

J