posted April 17, 2013 09:38 AM
Fools count it a misfortune
When to them a sage is born;
They cannot fashion to their will
This rock from mud-womb tornThey look on him as on a stranger,
And well it is they should; --
For they are merely surrogate
To one sired by a greater good.
Endeavoring to bring him up,
They tear down what is best,
And if he seem to fail in all,
How truly he has passed their test!
Harrowing this trial must be
For the parents, as the child;
Each is bound in misery
To cleanse what is defiled;
The former learning how to doubt
The foolishness of certainty,
The latter working to defend
Faith in his wisdom's sovereignty.