My Little Vine
Once I planted a vine beside a trellis. How carefully I tended the little sprout, watering it and teaching the tendrils to twine about the slats. Warmed by the strong sun, and nourished by the refreshing rain, the vine grew, and little by little climbed halfway up the trellis. Then the leaves began to unfold, and in a little while it began to provide cooling shade, and became a thing of beauty.
But one dark night there came a storm. The wind blew furiously, and the rain fell in torrents. The next morning, when I looked at the little vine it was lying prone on the ground, half submerged in muddy water.
Then what did I do? I stooped down and tenderly lifted the fallen vine out of the mire, and twined it carefully about the trellis again. In places I fastened its tendrils to the slats with pieces of soft string, and it began to hold up its head once more. Then I watched it grow day by day, and observed with pleasure that the vine I had lifted up was taking a fresh hold.
Do I ever think to be as considerate of my fellowmen – the men and women who suffer, and weep, and waver, and fall – as I was of that little vine, that knew neither pain nor pleasure? Am I as eager to lift up my brother man who has fallen low? Let us give men and women, with undying souls, as fair a chance to begin life over as we would an insignificant plant. - author unknown
Lifetime Speaker’s Encyclopedia, Volume 1, Jacob M. Braude, page 357