A Little at First, But Mighty At Last

A Little at First, But Mighty At Last

A traveler through a dusty road

Strewed acorns on the lea;

And one took root and sprouted up,

And grew into a tree.

Love sought its shade at evening time,

To breathe its early vows,

And Age was pleased, in heats of noon,

To bask beneath its boughs;

The dormouse loved its dangling twigs,

The birds sweet music bore,

It stood a glory in its place,

A blessing evermore.

A little spring had lost its way

Among the grass and fern;

A passing stranger scooped a well,

Where weary men might turn.

He walled it in, and hung with care

A ladle at the brink—

He thought not of the deed he did,

But judged that toil might drink.

He passed again—and lo[?] the well

By summers never dried,

Had cooled ten thousand parching tongues

And saved a life besides.

A dreamer dropped a random thought,

'Twas old, and yet 'twas new—

A simple fancy of the brain,

But strong in being true.

It shone upon a genial mind,

And lo! its light became

A lamp of light, a beacon ray,

A monitory flame.

The thought was small—its issue great,

A watch-fire on the hill,

It shed its radiance far adown,

A cheers the valley still.

A nameless man amid the crowd

That thronged the daily mart,

Let fall the word of hope and love,

Unstudied from the heart.

A whisper on the tumult thrown—

A transitory breath—

t raised a brother from the dust,

It saved a soul from death.

O, germ! O, fount! O, word of love!

O, thought at random cast!

Ye were but little at the first,

But mighty at the last.

C. Mackay

1:9, p. 4

9.17.1859