The bitten grass! The close-mown grass!
The poor earth bare and dry
Then pastures green and cornfields sheen
As all the years go by.

For still the grass, the blessed grass,
Knows neither death nor dearth,
Thick sweet and fine, in shade and shine
All over the green earth.

We need not grieve mown fields to leave
Nor close cropped pastures bare—
Though grassblades go in utter wo—
The grass! The grass is there!

The slaughtered men! the driven men!
The poor oppressed race!
The blood and tears of endless years—
What can such grief efface!

No creature born so worked and worn
No tale so sad to tell—
No lives one sees increase like these—
No creature thrives so well!

In every land how thick they stand
Ever more strong, more dear—
The swift years show how strong they grow
Mankind! Mankind! is here.