Poems (Trask)/Humility

by Clara Augusta Jones Trask

HUMILITY.

There is a little river
 Down below the meadow-land,
Where the ripples beat in music
 On the snowy, pebbled sand,
And the foam from tiny rapids
 Glistens like a spirit hand.

There are no wondrous cataracts
 To win a nation's gaze,
No cruel, treacherous eddies,
 No wild and devious ways;
But the sweet river waters fields,
 And gladdens lonely braes.

There frowns not on its borders
 The castle of a king;
But down in shady valleys,
 Where bells of cattle ring,
They say the little river
 Is a kind and blessed thing.

No hoary, stately cypresses,
 Crowned with clinging mistletoe,
Lean o'er the quiet waters,
 Or are mirrored in their flow;
And yet the river's power is felt
 In ocean's undertow.

And a single word of kindness,
 Spoken to a heart that's cold,
May be priceless as the jewels
 Which princes wore of old!
For a little smile of charity
 Is better than fine gold.