Acorn Poems

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1. The Pebble and the Acorn

   by Hannah Flagg Gould

   
   

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   "I am a Pebble! and yield to none!"
   Were swelling words of a tiny stone,
   "Nor time nor season can alter me;
   I am abiding, while ages flee.
   The pelting hail and the drizzling rain
   Have tried to soften me, long, in vain;
   And the tender dew has sought to melt,
   Or touch my heart; but it was not felt.
   There's none that can tell about my birth,
   For I'm as old as the big, round earth.
   The children of men arise, and pass
   Out of the world, like the blades of grass;
   And many a foot on me has trod,
   That's gone from sight, and under the sod!
   I am a Pebble! but who art thou,
   Rattling along from the restless bough?"
   

   The Acorn was shocked at this rude salute,
   And lay for a moment abashed and mute;
   She never before had been so near
   This gravelly ball, the mundane sphere;
   And she felt for a time at a loss to know
   How to answer a thing so coarse and low.
   But to give reproof of a nobler sort
   Than the angry look, or the keen retort,
   

   At length she said, in a gentle tone,
   "Since it has happened that I am thrown
   From the lighter element, where I grew,
   Down to another, so hard and new,
   And beside a personage so august,
   Abased, I will cover my head with dust,
   And quickly retire from the sight of one
   Whom time, nor season, nor storm, nor sun,
   Nor the gentle dew, nor the grinding heel
   Has ever subdued, or made to feel!"
   And soon, in the earth, she sunk away
   From the comfortless spot where the Pebble lay.
   

   But it was not long ere the soil was broke
   By the peering head of an infant oak!
   And, as it arose and its branches spread,
   The Pebble looked up, and wondering said,
   "A modest Acorn! never to tell
   What was enclosed in its simple shell;
   That the pride of the forest was folded up
   In the narrow space of its little cup!
   And meekly to sink in the darksome earth,
   Which proves that nothing could hide her worth!
   And oh! how many will tread on me,
   To come and admire the beautiful tree,
   Whose head is towering towards the sky,
   Above such a worthless thing as I!
   Useless and vain, a cumberer here,
   I have been idling from year to year.
   

   But never, from this, shall a vaunting word
   From the humbled Pebble again be heard,
   Till something without me or within,
   Shall show the purpose for which I've been!"
   The Pebble its vow could not forget,
   And it lies there wrapt in silence yet.
   

2. Little by Little

   by Anonymous

   
   

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   “Little by little,” an acorn said,
   As it slowly sank in its mossy bed,
   “I am improving every day,
   Hidden deep in the earth away.”
   

   Little by little, each day it grew;
   Little by little, it sipped the dew;
   Downward it sent out a thread-like root;
   Up in the air sprung a tiny shoot.
   

   Day after day, and year after year,
   Little by little the leaves appear;
   And the slender branches spread far and wide,
   Till the mighty oak is the forest’s pride.
   

   Far down in the depths of the dark blue sea,
   An insect train work ceaselessly.
   Grain by grain, they are building well,
   Each one alone in its little cell.
   

   Moment by moment, and day by day,
   Never stopping to rest or to play,
   Rocks upon rocks, they are rearing high,
   Till the top looks out on the sunny sky.
   

   The gentle wind and the balmy air,
   Little by little, bring verdure there;
   Till the summer sunbeams gayly smile
   On the buds and the flowers of the coral isle.
   

   “Little by little,” said a thoughtful boy,
   “Moment by moment, I’ll well employ,
   Learning a little every day,
   And not spending all my time in play.
   And still this rule in my mind shall dwell,
   Whatever I do, I will do it well.
   

   “Little by little, I’ll learn to know
   The treasured wisdom of long ago;
   And one of these days, perhaps, we’ll see
   That the world will be the better for me.”
   And do you not think that this simple plan
   Made him a wise and useful man?
   

3. Song of Life

   by Charles Mackay

   
   

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   A traveller on 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 heights 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
   Amid 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 on the brink;
   He thought not of the deed he did,
   But judged that Toil might drink.
   He passed again; and lo! the well,
   By summer never dried,
   Had cooled ten thousand parchéd tongues,
   And saved a life beside.
   

   A nameless man, amid the crowd
   That thronged the daily mart,
   Let fall a word of hope and love,
   Unstudied from the heart,
   A whisper on the tumult thrown,
   A transitory breath,
   It 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.
   

4. The Acorn

   by Jones Very

   
   

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   The seed has started,—who can stay it? see,
   The leaves are sprouting high above the ground;
   Already o'er the flowers, its head; the tree
   That rose beside it and that on it frowned,
   Behold! is but a small bush by its side.
   Still on! it cannot stop; its branches spread;
   It looks o'er all the earth in giant pride.
   The nations find upon its limbs their bread,
   Its boughs their millions shelter from the heat,
   Beneath its shade see kindreds, tongues, and all
   That the wide world contains, they all retreat
   Beneath the shelter of that acorn small
   That late thou flung away; 'twas the best gift
   That heaven e'er gave;—its head the low shall lift.
   

5. The Crop of Acorns

   by Lydia Sigourney

   
   

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   There came a man, in days of old,
   To hire a piece of land, for gold,
   And urg'd his suit in accents meek,
   "One crop alone, is all I seek.
   That harvest o'er, my claim I yield,
   And back to you resign the field."
   

   The owner, some misgiving felt,
   And coldly with the stranger dealt,
   But found at length his reasons fail,
   And honied eloquence prevail,
   So took the proffer'd price in hand.
   And for one crop, leas'd out the land.
   

   The wily tenant sneer'd with pride,
   And sow'd the soil with acorns wide,
   At first, like tiny shoots they grew.
   Then broad and wide, their branches threw,
   But long before those oaks sublime
   Aspiring reach'd their forest prime.
   The cheated landlord mould'ring lay
   Forgotten with his kindred clay.
   

   Oh ye, whose years unfolding fair,
   Are fresh with youth and free from care,
   Should vice or indolence desire
   The garden of your soul to hire,
   No parley hold,—reject their suit,
   Nor let one seed the soil pollute.
   

   My son, their first approach beware,
   With firmness break the insidious snare,
   Lest, as the acorns grew and throve
   Into a sun-excluding grove,
   Thy sins, a dark, o'ershadowing tree,
   Shut out the light of heaven from thee.
   

6. The Acorn and the Oak

   by Ella Maxwell Haddox

   
   

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   Within the damp and clinging earth,
   Where darkness spans a world unseen,
   An acorn dreamed; and, dreaming, saw
   Blue skies and forests green.
   

   It dreamed of light, where all was gloom;
   It dreamed of strength, where none prevailed
   Save that which held the dream, when dark
   And threatening powers assailed.
   

   It saw itself an oak, whose crest
   From Morn's first blush a halo caught;
   In whose broad boughs the weary birds
   At eve a shelter sought.
   

   And as in hopefulness it dreamed.
   The unbelieving earth made room;
   And, powerless to repress, did haste
   To friendliness assume.
   

   Thou, too, dream on, O Soul! and let
   Not things which seem thy faith undo;
   For All of Life concerns itself
   To make thy dream come true.
   

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