C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

The Palm-Tree

DEARE friend, sit down, and bear awhile this shade,

As I have yours long since: this plant, you see

So prest and bowed, before sin did degrade

Both you and it, had equall liberty

With other trees; but now, shut from the breath

And air of Eden, like a malcontent,

It thrives nowhere. This makes these weights, like death

And sin, hang at him; for the more he’s bent,

The more he grows. Celestial natures still

Aspire for home; this, Solomon of old,

By flowers and carvings, and mysterious skill

Of wings and cherubims and palms, foretold.

This is the life which, hid above with Christ

In God, doth always hidden multiply,

And spring and grow,—a tree ne’er to be priced,

A tree whose fruit is immortality.

Here spirits that have run their race, and fought,

And won the fight, and have not feared the frowns

Nor loved the smiles of greatness, but have wrought

Their Master’s will, meet to receive their crowns.

Here is the patience of the saints: this tree

Is watered by their tears, as flowers are fed

With dew by night; but One you cannot see

Sits here, and numbers all the tears they shed.

Here is their faith too, which if you will keep

When we two part, I will a journey make

To pluck a garland hence while you do sleep,

And weave it for your head against you wake.