  I looked where the roses were blooming, They stood among grasses and weeds: I said, “Where such beauties are growing, Why suffer these paltry weeds?” Weeping, the poor things faltered: “We have neither beauty nor bloom, We are grass in the roses’ garden, But the Master gives us room. “Slaves of a generous master, Born from a world above, We came to this place in His wisdom, We stay to this hour from His love. “We have fed His humblest creatures, We have served Him truly and long; He gave no grace to our features, We have neither color nor song. “Yet He who has made the flowers Placed us on the selfsame sod; He knows our reason for being,— We are grass in the garden of God.” —James Freeman Clarke. |
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