In the Morning by Willis Boyd Allen - HTML preview

MOSSES.

Children of lowly birth,

Pitifully weak;

Humblest creatures of the wood,

To your peaceful brotherhood

Sweet the promise that was given

Like the dew from heaven:

“Blessed are the meek,

They shall inherit the earth.”

Thus are the words fulfilled:

Over all the earth

Mosses find a home secure.

On the desolate mountain crest,

Avalanche-ploughed and tempest-tilled,

The quiet mosses rest;

On shadowy banks of streamlets pure,

Kissed by the cataract’s shifting spray,

For the bird’s small foot a soft highway;

For the weary and sore distressed

In hopeless quest

Of a fabulous golden fleece,

Little sermons of peace.

Blessed children of lowly birth—

Thus they inherit the earth.