"Learn to trust in growth." These were the words
Of one I sought out when my way seemed slow.
"Impatience is laziness," she said;
"Unwillingness to use the truth you know."
The eyes were smiling that through many years
Had seen those searching comforted and freed.
"Make it a happy thing to grow," she urged.
"Persistent, patient effort will succeed.
"I remember once our stopping at a farm
To buy some fruit for our dessert that night.
The farmer took us out behind the house
And pointed out a very curious sight:
Through a millstone's hole a pear tree had sprung up,
And as it slowly had increased in girth,
It raised the heavy, clumsy granite stone
A good three feet, at least, above the earth.
"Then several years went by. We stopped again
And went to find out what had come to pass.
The tree had grown, and now the prisoning rock
Was lying cracked and broken in the grass."
She paused, then said good-by and shook my hand.
Her eyes were twinkling as I turned to go.
"If there seems to be a millstone round your neck,
Just think about the tree, my dear—and grow!"
