A Blade of Grass by Eugene Rowell

Pacific Press Publishing Association · Mountain View, California · Jan 18, 1910

A Blade of Grass

By Eugene Rowell

I CLIMBED far up on the rugged steep Of a high and lonely hill, Where the summer sun shone bright and hot, And the winter winds blew chill. Up there on the mountain’s rock-strewn side, Where the wild crags darkly frowned, In a tiny cleft of the barren rock, A blade of grass I found.

Again, when a season had passed, I climbed Up the mountain’s rocky side; And looking around on the scene, I found That the little plant had died. But not in vain had it lived; for there, Where once was the blade of green, With firm roots pressed in the widening cleft A sturdy young tree was seen.

Then I thought of the men who in ages past Like the blade of grass had been; Who had lived and died in a narrow cleft In a world of strife and sin. They lived and died; but there followed the tree, Defiant to gale and storm, That had riven the rock of a tyrant’s power— The giant oak, Reform.

O, a seed of truth, by a careful hand, Or as if by the mild winds, sown, In the rocks of Error will root and grow, Till it severs the hindering stone; And a thought, or a word, or a deed of love, Tho it falls on the rocks of Hate, Will grow and burst through its prison walls, Till a tree stands proud and great.

Toiler, thy life, in its narrow sphere, A grander thing may be, In the plan of the growth of the tree of Truth, Than at present it seems to thee. Some deed, or a thought by chance expressed, Or a task that thou hast done, May open the way to a better day For the ones who follow on. EUGENE ROWELL.