Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/The Divided Burden
THE DIVIDED BURDEN.
I saw a boy who towards his cottage home
A heavy burden bore. The way was steep
And rocky, and his little loaded arm
Strain'd downward to its full extent, while wide
The other horizontally was thrown,
As if to counterpoise the painful weight
That drew him towards the earth.
A while he paused
And set his burden down, just where the path
Grew more precipitous, and wiped his brow
With his worn sleeve, and, panting, breathed long draughts
Of the sweet air, while the hot summer sun
Flamed o'er his forehead.
But another boy,
'Neath a cool poplar in a neighbouring field,
Sat playing with his dog, and from the grass
Uprising, with light bound the coppice clear'd,
And lent a vigorous hand to share the toil.
So on they went together, grasping firm
The basket's handle with a right good will;
And while their young, clear voices met my ear,
I recollected how the Bible said,
"Bear one another's burdens," and perceived
That to obey God's word was happiness.
Then, as the bee gleans from the humblest flower
Sown by the wayside honey for her hive,
I treasured up the lesson, and when eve
Call'd home the labouring ox, and to its bed
Warn'd the young bird, and shut the lily's cup,
I took my little boy upon my knee,
And told him of the basket-bearer's toil,
And of the friend who help'd him.
When his eye
Swell'd full and round, and fix'd upon my face,
Taking the story to his inmost soul,
I said, "My son, be pitiful to all,
And aid them when thou canst.
For God hath sown
Sweet seeds within us, seeds of sympathy,
Whose buds are virtues, such as bloom for heaven.
If thy young sister weepeth, kiss the tear
From her smooth cheek, and sooth with tender words
Her swelling breast; or if a secret thorn
Is in thy brother's bosom, draw it thence;
Or if thy playmate sorroweth, lend an ear,
And share with sympathy his weight of wo.
And when thou art a man, my little one,
Still keep thy spirit open to the ills
Of foreigner and stranger, of the race
Whom Afric's sun hath darken'd, and of those
Poor red-brow'd exiles from our forest shades,
Where once they ruled supreme.
Thus shalt thou shun
That selfishness which, wrapp'd in its own gifts,
Forgets alike the Giver and the grief
Of those who mourn.
So mayst thou ever find
Pity and love in thine own time of need,
If on thy young heart, as a signet ring,
Thou grav'st that motto from a Book Divine,
'Bear one another's burdens, and fulfil
The law of Christ.'"