English Original
There was a handful of clay in the bank of a river. It was only common clay, coarse and heavy; but it had high thoughts of its own value, and wonderful dreams of the great place which it was to fill in the world when the time came for its virtues to be discovered.
Overhead, in the spring sunshine, the trees whispered together of the glory which descended upon them when the delicate blossoms and leaves began to expand, and the forest glowed with fair, clear colors, as if the dust of thousands of rubies and emeralds were hanging, in soft clouds, above the earth.
The flowers, surprised with the joy of beauty, bent their heads to one another, as the wind caressed them, and said: "Sisters, how lovely you have become. You make the day bright."
The river, glad of new strength and rejoicing in the unison of all its waters, murmured to the shores in music, telling of its release from icy fetters, its swift flight from the snow-clad mountains, and the mighty work to which it was hurrying — the wheels of many mills to be turned, and great ships to be floated to the sea.
Waiting blindly in its bed, the clay comforted itself with lofty hopes. "My time will come," it said. "I was not made to be hidden forever. Glory and beauty and honor are coming to me in due season."
One day the clay felt itself taken from the place where it had waited so long. A flat blade of iron passed beneath it, and lifted it, and tossed it into a cart with other lumps of clay, and it was carried far away, over a rough and stony road. But it was not afraid, nor discouraged, for it said to itself: "This is necessary. The path to glory is always rugged. Now I am on my way to play a great part in the world."
But the hard journey was nothing, compared with the tribulation and distress that came after it. The clay was put into a trough and mixed and beaten and stirred and trampled. It seemed almost unbearable. But there was consolation in the thought that something very fine and noble was certainly coming out of all this trouble. The clay felt sure that, if it could only wait long enough, a wonderful reward was in store for it.
Then it was put upon a swiftly turning wheel, and whirled around until it seemed as if it must fly into a thousand pieces. A strange power pressed it and molded it, as it revolved, and through all the dizziness and pain it felt that it was taking a new form.
Then an unknown hand put it into an oven, and fires were kindled about it — fierce and penetrating — hotter than all the heats of summer that had ever brooded upon the bank of the river. But through all, the clay held itself together and endured its trials, in the confidence of a great future. "Surely," it thought, "I am intended for something very splendid, since such pains are taken with me. Perhaps I am fashioned for the ornament of a temple, or a precious vase for the table of a king."
At last the baking was finished. The clay was taken from the furnace and set down upon a board, in the cool air, under the blue sky. The tribulation was passed. The reward was at hand.
Close beside the board there was a pool of water, not very deep, not very clear, but calm enough to reflect, with impartial truth, every image that fell upon it. There for the first time, as it was lifted from the board, the clay saw its new shape, the reward of all its patience and pain, the consummation of its hopes — a common flower-pot, straight and stiff, red and ugly. And then it felt that it was not destined for a king's house, nor for a palace of art, because it was made without glory or beauty or honor; and it murmured against the unknown maker, saying, "Why hast thou made me thus?"
Many days it passed in sullen discontent. Then it was filled with earth, and something — it knew not what — but something rough and brown and dead-looking, was thrust into the middle of the earth and covered over. The clay rebelled at this new disgrace. "This is the worst of all that has happened to me, to be filled with dirt and rubbish. Surely I am a failure."
But presently it was set in a greenhouse, where the sunlight fell warm upon it, and water was sprinkled over it, and day by day as it waited, a change began to come to it. Something was stirring within it — a new hope. Still it was ignorant, and knew not what the new hope meant.
One day the clay was lifted again from its place, and carried into a great church. Its dream was coming true after all. It had a fine part to play in the world. Glorious music flowed over it. It was surrounded with flowers. Still it could not understand. So it whispered to another vessel of clay, like itself, close beside it, "Why have they set me here? Why do all the people look toward us?" And the other vessel answered, "Do you not know? You are carrying a royal scepter of lilies. Their petals are white as snow, and the heart of them is like pure gold. The people look this way because the flower is the most wonderful in the world. And the root of it is in your heart."
Then the clay was content, and silently thanked its maker, because, though an earthen vessel, it held so great a treasure.
中文翻译
河岸上有一捧泥土。它只是普通的泥土，粗糙而沉重；但它对自己的价值有着很高的期许，并梦想着有朝一日，当它的优点被发现时，它将在世界上占据一个伟大的位置。
头顶上，在春天的阳光下，树木低声细语，谈论着当娇嫩的花朵和叶子开始舒展时降临在它们身上的荣光。森林焕发出美丽、清澈的色彩，仿佛成千上万的红宝石和翡翠的尘埃，如柔软的云朵，悬挂在大地之上。
花儿们为美的喜悦而惊喜，当风儿抚摸着它们时，它们互相低下头，说道：“姐妹们，你们变得多么可爱。你们让白天明亮起来。”
河流为新的力量而高兴，并为所有水流的齐声欢唱而喜悦，它用音乐向河岸低语，诉说着它从冰的束缚中解脱，从白雪覆盖的山脉中疾飞而出，以及它正匆忙奔赴的伟大事业——转动许多磨坊的轮子，将大船浮送到大海。
泥土在河床上盲目地等待着，用崇高的希望安慰自己。“我的时刻终将到来，”它说。“我生来不是为了永远被埋没。荣耀、美丽和尊荣终将在适当的季节降临于我。”
有一天，泥土感觉自己被从等待了许久的地方取走。一把扁平的铁铲从它下面穿过，将它铲起，抛入一辆装满其他土块的手推车里。它被运往远方，道路崎岖多石。但它并不害怕，也不气馁，因为它对自己说：“这是必要的。通往荣耀的道路总是崎岖不平的。现在，我正走在去世界上扮演重要角色的路上。”
然而，与随之而来的磨难和痛苦相比，这艰难的旅程根本不算什么。泥土被放入一个槽中，被混合、捶打、搅拌和践踏。这似乎几乎无法忍受。但想到所有这些麻烦之后，必定会产生某种非常精美和高贵的东西，它便得到了安慰。泥土确信，只要它能等待足够长的时间，一份奇妙的奖赏就在前方等着它。
然后，它被放在一个快速旋转的轮子上，飞速旋转，直到它感觉自己似乎要碎成千片。一股奇异的力量在它旋转时按压并塑造着它，在所有的眩晕和痛苦中，它感觉到自己正在获得一种新的形态。
接着，一只未知的手把它放进了一个窑炉，炉火在它周围被点燃——猛烈而透彻——比曾经笼罩在河岸上的所有夏日酷热都要炽热。但自始至终，泥土都坚持着，忍受着考验，因为它对未来充满信心。“当然，”它想，“我注定是为了某种非常辉煌的东西，既然为我费了如此周折。也许我被塑造成了一座寺庙的装饰品，或是国王餐桌上的一个珍贵花瓶。”
终于，烧制完成了。泥土从炉中被取出，放在一块木板上，置于蓝天下的凉爽空气中。磨难过去了。奖赏近在咫尺。
木板旁边有一池水，不深，也不清澈，但足够平静，能够公正真实地映照出落在它上面的每一个影像。就在那里，当它被从木板上拿起时，泥土第一次看到了它的新形状——它所有耐心和痛苦的奖赏，它希望的顶点——一个普通的花盆，笔直僵硬，红色而丑陋。于是它感到自己并非注定要进入国王的宫殿，也不是为了艺术的殿堂，因为它被造得毫无荣耀、美丽或尊贵可言；它低声抱怨着那位未知的造物主，说：“你为什么把我造成这样？”
它在愠怒的不满中度过了许多天。然后，它被填满了泥土，某个东西——它不知道是什么——某个粗糙、棕色、看起来死气沉沉的东西，被塞进了泥土中央并覆盖起来。泥土对这种新的耻辱感到愤慨。“这是发生在我身上最糟糕的事了，被填满了泥土和垃圾。我肯定是个失败品。”
但不久，它被安置在一个温室里，阳光温暖地照在它身上，水洒在它上面。日复一日，在等待中，变化开始降临。某种东西在它内部搅动——一个新的希望。它仍然懵懂无知，不知道这新的希望意味着什么。
有一天，泥土再次从它的位置被拿起，带进了一座宏伟的教堂。它的梦想终究成真了。它要在世界上扮演一个美好的角色。辉煌的音乐流淌过它。它被鲜花环绕。它仍然无法理解。于是它低声问旁边一个和它一样的陶制器皿：“他们为什么把我放在这里？为什么所有人都朝我们看？”另一个器皿回答说：“难道你不知道吗？你正托举着一支百合花的王权之杖。它们的花瓣洁白如雪，花心如同纯金。人们朝这边看，因为这花是世界上最奇妙的。而它的根，就在你的心里。”
于是，泥土心满意足，默默地感谢它的造物主，因为，尽管只是一个陶制的器皿，它却承载着如此伟大的珍宝。