The lowly grass we tread beneath our feet
A quiet lesson gives,
So selfless, so unchiding, gentle, sweet,
It teaches as it lives.
By dusty roads where many a weary drove
Knows its refreshing worth,
It finds its meek possession, shared in love,
Its heritage of earth.
The mower's sweeping scythe may keenly shear
Its plumy, waving dress,
The sheep crop close, the sun make brown and sear—
It springs again to bless.
As shower upon the new-mown grass descends
To sink into the sod,
Ungrudgingly each tiny grass blade sends
Fresh gratitude to God.
To mountain sides, rich meads, and large estates
The humble grass is heir,
Its ministry unheeded; still it waits
To serve us everywhere.
