18 THE DELIGHTS OF GARDENS 



THE SEED GROWING SECRETLY 



DEAR, secret greenness ! nurst below ! 



Tempests and winds and winter-nights 

 Vex not, that but One sees thee grow, 



That One made all these lesser lights. 



If those bright joys He singly sheds 



On thee, were all met in one crown, 

 Both sun and stars would hide their heads ; 



And moons, though full, would get them down. 



Let glory be their bait whose minds 



Are all too high for a low cell : 

 Though hawks can prey through storms and winds, 



The poor bee in her hive must dwell. 



Glory, the crowd's cheap tinsel, still 

 To what most takes them is a drudge ; 



And they too oft take good for ill, 

 And thriving vice for virtue judge. 



What needs a conscience calm and bright 



Within itself an outward test ? 

 Who breaks his glass to take more light, 



Makes way for storms into his rest. 



Then bless thy secret growth, nor catch 

 At noise, but thrive unseen and dumb; 



Keep clean, bear fruit, earn life, and watch, 

 Till the white-winged i*eapers come ! 



HENRY VAUGHAN. 



