Edward Henry Bickersteth (1825-1906). From Year to Year (1883). II. "The Meadow Grass." Alfred H. Miles, ed. 1907. The Sacred Poets of the Nineteenth Century

Alfred H. Miles, ed. The Sacred Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907.

From Year to Year (1883).
II. “The Meadow Grass”

By Edward Henry Bickersteth (1825–1906)


THE MEADOW grass is green and blithe,
With gold and purple hues besprent;
It recks not of to-morrow’s scythe,
Rich in its lavish bloom and scent;
The sun is warm, the evening gay,	5
Who speaks of aught but life to-day?

The jocund world is borne along
By troops of rosy-figur’d hours,
Its path of merriment and song
Still garlanded with new-cut flowers;	10
And all her children seem to say,
To-morrow will be as to-day.

But standing from the throng apart
There are who drink of sorrow’s springs,
And answer to their bleeding heart	15
That heart’s persistent questionings,
“Is there no harvest far away
Of seed we sow in tears to-day?”

Listen, the world’s melodious chime
Grows faint and fainter year by year,	20
And things to come are shadowing time,
And soon the Master will be here:
God grant us crown’d by Him to say,
Eternity is ours to-day.