That cause can ne­ver be lost nor stayed
Which takes the course of what God has made;
And is not trust­ing in walls and tow­ers,
But slow­ly grow­ing from seeds to flow­ers.

Each no­ble ser­vice that men have wrought
Was first con­ceived as a fruit­ful thought;
Each wor­thy cause with a fu­ture glo­ri­ous
By qui­et­ly grow­ing be­comes vic­to­ri­ous.

Thereby it­self like a tree it shows:
That high it reach­es, as deep it grows;
And when the storms are its branch­es shak­ing,
It deep­er root in the soil is tak­ing.

Be then no more by a storm dis­mayed,
For by it the full grown seeds are laid;
And though the tree by its might it shat­ters,
What then, if thou­sands of seeds it scat­ters?