Our Holiday Among The Hills By James And Janet Logie Robertson |
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SONG OF THE BLADES OF GRASS. |
 | Our Holiday Among The Hills |  |
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SONG OF THE BLADES OF GRASS.
Humble we are and lowly,
Made to be trodden on;
Once we had hope, but slowly,
Softly that hope has gone;
Yet we despair not wholly—
On us a star has shone!
Made to be trodden on;
Once we had hope, but slowly,
Softly that hope has gone;
Yet we despair not wholly—
On us a star has shone!
When we first woke from sleeping,
Rose from our earth-bed warm,
Kindly the light came peeping
Under the tall bent's arm,
And the blue sky seemed keeping
All on the earth from harm.
Rose from our earth-bed warm,
Kindly the light came peeping
Under the tall bent's arm,
And the blue sky seemed keeping
All on the earth from harm.
But “Here is nought abiding”
Mournful long grasses say,
Shaking their heads, and hiding
From us the light of day,
E'en in the sunshine chiding
If we are glad and gay.
Mournful long grasses say,
Shaking their heads, and hiding
From us the light of day,
E'en in the sunshine chiding
If we are glad and gay.
Strange are the things they tell us—
How can the mighty powers
Ruling the sky be jealous
Of such a joy as ours?
Sending forth storms to quell us,
Darkness, and driving showers.
How can the mighty powers
Ruling the sky be jealous
Of such a joy as ours?
Sending forth storms to quell us,
Darkness, and driving showers.
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And when the sky is dreary,
When from the mists the sun
Staggers out wan and weary
As if his strength were done,
Cry they “'Tis this we fear aye!
This is our doom begun!”
When from the mists the sun
Staggers out wan and weary
As if his strength were done,
Cry they “'Tis this we fear aye!
This is our doom begun!”
We are so young beside them
Withered and old and grey,
We never dare to chide them,
No matter what they say;
They would have ill betide them,
We would have good alway.
Withered and old and grey,
We never dare to chide them,
No matter what they say;
They would have ill betide them,
We would have good alway.
Surely the skies have heard them
Murmur in midst of bliss,
And to their wish preferred them—
To a grey gloom like this—
As in a grave interred them
Safe from the sunlight's kiss.
Murmur in midst of bliss,
And to their wish preferred them—
To a grey gloom like this—
As in a grave interred them
Safe from the sunlight's kiss.
Boisterous winds are brawling
Over the patient hill;
Something upon us falling
Heavy and damp and chill
Seems to be ever calling
“Down, little blades, lie still!”
Over the patient hill;
Something upon us falling
Heavy and damp and chill
Seems to be ever calling
“Down, little blades, lie still!”
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Summer, so long expected,
Welcome however late!
Come to our hearts dejected,
Smile on our dismal fate,
Leave us no more neglected
—It is so hard to wait!
Welcome however late!
Come to our hearts dejected,
Smile on our dismal fate,
Leave us no more neglected
—It is so hard to wait!
“Patience!” they answer kindly,
Shadow and shower and breeze—
“Rest in the gloom resign'dly,
Taking what Heaven may please:
Trust, little children, blindly:
None of us farther sees.”
Shadow and shower and breeze—
“Rest in the gloom resign'dly,
Taking what Heaven may please:
Trust, little children, blindly:
None of us farther sees.”
Yet there was, one morn, lightly
Hung in our midst, a star!
Glittering and beckoning brightly
In the high blue afar
—Once we saw many nightly,
Now know not where they are!
Hung in our midst, a star!
Glittering and beckoning brightly
In the high blue afar
—Once we saw many nightly,
Now know not where they are!
Some of our hopes are blighted—
Hopes of a summer gone;
Hopes to be no more slighted
Trampled, and trodden on:
Yet are we not benighted
—On us a star has shone!
Hopes of a summer gone;
Hopes to be no more slighted
Trampled, and trodden on:
Yet are we not benighted
—On us a star has shone!
| Our Holiday Among The Hills | |