So, from oft converse with life's wintry gales, 25 Should man learn how to clasp with tougher roots The inspiring earth; how otherwise avails The leaf-creating sap that sunward shoots? So every year that falls with noiseless flake Should fill old scars up on the stormward side, 30 And make hoar age revered for age's sake, Not for traditions of youth's leafy pride. So, from the pinched soil of a churlish fate, True hearts compel the sap of sturdier growth, So between earth and heaven stand simply great, 35 That these shall seem but their attendants both; For nature's forces with obedient zeal Wait on the rooted faith and oaken will; As quickly the pretender's cheat they feel, And turn mad Pucks to flout and mock him still. 40 Lord! all 'Thy works are lessons; each contains Some emblem of man's all-containing soul; Shall he make fruitless all thy glorious pains, Delving within thy grace an eyeless mole? Make me the least of thy Dodona-grove, 45 Cause me some message of thy truth to bring, Speak but a word through me, nor let thy love Among my boughs disdain to perch and sing. BEAVER BROOK Hushed with broad sunlight lies the hill, And, minuting the long day's loss, The cedar's shadow, slow and still, Creeps o'er its dial of gray moss. Warm noon brims full the valley's cup, 5 The aspen's leaves are scarce astir; Only the little mill sends up Its busy, never-ceasing burr. Climbing the loose-piled wall that hems The road along the mill-pond's brink, 10 From 'neath the arching barberry-stems My footstep scares the shy chewink. Beneath a bony buttonwood The mill's red door lets forth the din; The whitened miller, dust-imbued, 15 Flits past the square of dark within. No mountain torrent's strength is here; Sweet Beaver, child of forest still, Heaps its small pitcher to the ear, 20 And gently waits the miller's will. Swift slips Undine along the race Unheard, and then, with flashing bound, Floods the dull wheel with light and grace, And, laughing, hunts the loath drudge round. The miller dreams not at what cost, 25 The quivering millstones hum and whirl, Nor how for every turn are tost Armfuls of diamond and of pearl. But Summer cleared my happier eyes With drops of some celestial juice, 30 To see how Beauty underlies, Forevermore each form of use. And more; methought I saw that flood, Which now so dull and darkling steals, Thick, here and there, with human blood, 35 To turn the world's laborious wheels.