Two gardeners once beneath an oak,
Lay down to rest, when Jack thus spoke —
" You must confess, dear Will, that Nature
" Is but a blund'ring kind of creature;
" And I — nay, why that look of terror?
" Could teach her how to mend her error. "
" Your talk, " quoth Will, " is bold and odd,
" What you call Nature, I call God. "
" Well, call him by what name you will, "
Quoth Jack, " he manages but ill;
" Nay, from the very tree we're under,
" I'll prove that Providence can blunder. "
Quoth Will, " Through thick and thin you dash,
" I shudder, Jack, at words so rash;
" I trust to what the Scriptures tell,
" He hath done always all things well. "
Quoth Jack, " I'm lately grown a wit,
" And think all good a lucky hit .
" To prove that Providence can err,
" Not words, but facts, the truth over.
" To this vast oak lift up thine eyes,
" Then view that acorn's paltry size;
" How foolish! on a tree so tall,
" To place that tiny cup and ball.
" Now look again, yon pompion see,
" It weighs two pounds at least, nay three;
" Yet this large fruit, where is it found?
" Why, meanly trailing on the ground.
" Had Providence ask'd my advice,
" I would have changed it in a trice;
" I would have said, at nature's birth,
" Let acorns creep upon the earth;
" But let the pompion, vast and round,
" On the oak's lofty boughs be found. "
He said — and as he rashly spoke,
Lo! from the branches of the oak,
A wind, which suddenly arose,
Beat show'rs of acorns on his nose;
" Oh! oh! " quoth Jack, " I'm wrong I see,
" And God is wiser far than me.
" For did a shower of pompious large,
" Thus on my naked face discharge,
" I had been bruis'd and blinded quite,
" What Heaven appoints I find is right:
" Whene'er I'm tempted to rebel,
" I'll think how light the acorns fell;
" Whereas on oaks had pompious hung,
" My broken skull had stopp'd my tongue. "