Part 3 — THE VOICE OF THE GRASS

Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere; By the dusty roadside, On the sunny hillside, Close by the noisy brook, In every shady nook, I come creeping, creeping everywhere.

Here I come creeping, smiling everywhere; All round the open door, Where here sit the aged poor; Here where the children play, In the bright and merry May, I come creeping, creeping everywhere.

Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere; In the noisy city street My pleasant face you'll meet, Cheering the sick at heart Toiling his busy part,— Silently creeping, creeping everywhere.

Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere; You cannot see me coming, Nor hear my low sweet humming; For in the starry night, And the glad morning light, I come quietly creeping everywhere.

Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere; More welcome than the flowers In summer's pleasant hours; The gentle cow is glad, And the merry bird not sad, To see me creeping, creeping everywhere.

Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere; When you're numbered with the dead In your still and narrow bed, In the happy spring I'll come And deck your silent home,— Creeping, silently creeping everywhere.

Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere; My humble song of praise Most joyfully I raise To Him at whose command I beautify the land, Creeping, silently creeping everywhere.

Sarah Roberts Boyle [1812-1869]