A PARABLE.
A VIGOROUS branch of a noble vine rose up above the top of the wall, and said to himself, “Here is a sphere which none has appropriated, a place where enlarged views and enlarged capacity are things of course, where nails and shreds are things of the past, and where, of course, fruit of an extraordinary character may be expected to grow.”
So the branch stretched himself higher and higher, until he was very high indeed, and he heard the gardener say, “Well, well, his time will come.”
“Yes, truly,” said the branch, “my time will come, no doubt. It ought to come, up here. My brethren below will, of course, do the best they can, but one must not expect too much of them.”
“Nor,” said the gardener, “must we expect too much of thee.”
Slowly, as it seemed to the branch, which was so lonely in his elevation, the season for gathering the grapes came round, but how great was his shame and grief to hear the gardener say, “Never mind the topmost branch, it is empty.”
Time passed on, and the pruning-knife was brought out, and the branch said to the gardener, “O, my Master, can’st thou do ought for me?”
Smiling, the gardener replied, “What! wouldst thou deny thyself?”
“Yea, Master,” said he, “I would.”
“Be it so;” and instantly the lofty part of the branch was severed, the remainder brought down upon the wall, and made fast in a sure place.
When another vintage was gathered, the gatherers looked at the humbled branch, and saw nothing but a few folded leaves. “It has not recovered its wasted strength,” said they. But the gardener himself drew near, and lifted up the leaves, and, lo! there hung upon it the largest, richest cluster of all.
“Master!” said the branch, “I hid it for Thee: Thou didst prune me in Thy wisdom, and bind me in Thy love.” B. W.