• I am Thy grass, O Lord!
      I grow up sweet and tall
    But for a day, beneath Thy sword
      To lie at evenfall.

    Yet have I not enough
      In that brief day of mine?
    The wind, the bees, the wholesome stuff
      The sun pours out like wine.

    Behold, this is my crown,—
      Love will not let me be;
    Love holds me here; Love cuts...