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James Russell Lowell - Festina Lente
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Once on a time there was a pool
Fringed all about with flag-leaves cool
And spotted with cow-lilies garish,
Of frogs and pouts the ancient parish.
Alders the creaking redwings sink on,
Tussocks that house blithe Bob o` Lincoln
Hedged round the unassailed seclusion,
Where muskrats piled their cells Carthusian;
And many a moss-embroidered log,
The watering-place of summer frog,
Slept and decayed with patient skill,
As watering-places sometimes will.

Now in this Abbey of Theleme,
Which realized the fairest dream
That ever dozing bull-frog had,
Sunned on a half-sunk lily-pad,
There rose a party with a mission
To mend the polliwogs` condition,
Who notified the selectmen
To call a meeting there and then.
`Some kind of steps,` they said, `are needed;
They don`t come on so fast as we did:
Let`s dock their tails; if that don`t make `em
Frogs by brevet, the Old One take `em!
That boy, that came the other day
To dig some flag-root down this way,
His jack-knife left, and `tis a sign
That Heaven approves of our design:
`Twere wicked not to urge the step on,
When Providence has sent the weapon.`

Old croakers, deacons of the mire,
That led the deep batrachian choir,
_Uk! Uk! Caronk!_ with bass that might
Have left Lablache`s out of sight,
Shook nobby heads, and said, `No go!
You`d better let `em try to grow:
Old Doctor Time is slow, but still
He does know how to make a pill.`

But vain was all their hoarsest bass,
Their old experience out of place,
And spite of croaking and entreating,
The vote was carried in marsh-meeting.

`Lord knows,` protest the polliwogs,
`We`re anxious to be grown-up frogs;
But don`t push in to do the work
Of Nature till she prove a shirk;
`Tis not by jumps that she advances,
But wins her way by circumstances;
Pray, wait awhile, until you know
We`re so contrived as not to grow;
Let Nature take her own direction,
And she`ll absorb our imperfection;
_You_ mightn`t like `em to appear with,
But we must have the things to steer with.`

`No,` piped the party of reform,
`All great results are ta`en by storm;
Fate holds her best gifts till we show
We`ve strength to make her let them go;
The Providence that works in history,
And seems to some folks such a mystery,
Does not creep slowly on _incog._,
But moves by jumps, a mighty frog;
No more reject the Age`s chrism,
Your queues are an anachronism;
No more the Future`s promise mock,
But lay your tails upon the block,
Thankful that we the means have voted
To have you thus to frogs promoted.`

The thing was done, the tails were cropped.
And home each philotadpole hopped,
In faith rewarded to exult,
And wait the beautiful result.
Too soon it came; our pool, so long
The theme of patriot bull-frog`s song,
Next day was reeking, fit to smother,
With heads and tails that missed each other,--
Here snoutless tails, there tailless snouts;
The only gainers were the pouts.


MORAL

From lower to the higher next,
Not to the top, is Nature`s text;
And embryo Good, to reach full stature,
Absorbs the Evil in its nature.
Source
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