The Fragrance of the Quince

Think for a moment about a quince.
Its shape is ugly, and it is hard besides,
so a quince is not something you feel like treasuring.
A mother who thought nothing of quinces
tossed an ugly quince carelessly on the ground.
A child, quietly looking at the quince flung on the ground,
brought a small stone and cut the quince open.
The mother, who thought worms would come out,
was startled and snatched the quince from the child.
At that moment a bright smile bloomed on the mother’s face,
because she smelled the fragrance coming from the quince.
People treated you like a quince.
What could you expect from something that looks like that?
Could a thing that looks like that really have a fragrance?
But people did not value you; they threw you away,
and I cut you open.
The truly sweet fragrance of faith made me drunk,
and I came to love you.
From you, whom no one valued,
blossoms a scent of faith so precious
that I mean to set you up high and let many people smell it.
When you want to keep a quince a long time, what do you do?
Don’t you slice it and pack it in sugar so that not even air can get in?
Just as I cut you and pack you in sugar,
I put you through hard trials
to keep you a long time and show your deep flavor to many people.
Pray that, like the quince, your fragrance of faith will last forever.