Soapweed
Well-known member
My dad always e-mails us his weekly newspaper column ahead of time. This little ditty was included in his writings for this week. Both my dad and his brother memorized this when they were teen-agers, and even today, I'll bet Dad could recite it verbatim. Here is what he wrote:
"While on the subject of grass, John Ingalls, former senator from Kansas, wrote the following. In the literary world, it is on the top of my list: "
GRASS by Senator John Ingalls
Lying in the sunshine among the buttercups and dandelions of May, scarcely higher in intelligence than the minute tenants of that mimic wilderness, our earliest recollections are of grass, and when the fitful fever is ended, and the foolish wrangle of the market and forum is closed, grass heals over the scar which our descent into the bosom of the earth has made, and the carpet of the infant becomes the blanket of the dead.
Grass is the forgiveness of Nature---her constant benediction. Fields trampled with battle, saturated with blood, torn by the ruts of cannon, grow green again with grass, and carnage is forgotten. Streets abandoned by traffic become grass grown, like rural lanes, and are obliterated. Forests decay, harvests perish, flowers vanish, but grass is immortal.
Beleaguered by the sullen hosts of winter, it withdraws into the impregnable fortress of its subterranean vitality, and emerges upon the first solicitation of spring. Sown by the winds, by wandering birds, propagated by the subtle horticulture of the elements, which are its ministers and servants, it softens the rude outline of the world. Its tenacious fibers hold the earth in its place, and prevent its soluble components from washing into the wasting sea. It invades the solitude of deserts, climbs the inaccessible slopes of mountains, modifies climates and determines the history, character and destiny of nations.
Unobtrusive and patient, it has immortal vigor and aggression. Banished from the thoroughfares and the fields, it abides its time to return, and when vigilance is relaxed, or the dynasty has perished it silently resumes the throne from which it has been expelled, but which it never abdicates. It bears no blazonry of bloom to charm the senses with fragrance or splendor, but its homely hue is more enchanting than the lily or the rose. It yields no fruit in earth or air, and yet should its harvest fail for a single year, famine would depopulate the earth.
"While on the subject of grass, John Ingalls, former senator from Kansas, wrote the following. In the literary world, it is on the top of my list: "
GRASS by Senator John Ingalls
Lying in the sunshine among the buttercups and dandelions of May, scarcely higher in intelligence than the minute tenants of that mimic wilderness, our earliest recollections are of grass, and when the fitful fever is ended, and the foolish wrangle of the market and forum is closed, grass heals over the scar which our descent into the bosom of the earth has made, and the carpet of the infant becomes the blanket of the dead.
Grass is the forgiveness of Nature---her constant benediction. Fields trampled with battle, saturated with blood, torn by the ruts of cannon, grow green again with grass, and carnage is forgotten. Streets abandoned by traffic become grass grown, like rural lanes, and are obliterated. Forests decay, harvests perish, flowers vanish, but grass is immortal.
Beleaguered by the sullen hosts of winter, it withdraws into the impregnable fortress of its subterranean vitality, and emerges upon the first solicitation of spring. Sown by the winds, by wandering birds, propagated by the subtle horticulture of the elements, which are its ministers and servants, it softens the rude outline of the world. Its tenacious fibers hold the earth in its place, and prevent its soluble components from washing into the wasting sea. It invades the solitude of deserts, climbs the inaccessible slopes of mountains, modifies climates and determines the history, character and destiny of nations.
Unobtrusive and patient, it has immortal vigor and aggression. Banished from the thoroughfares and the fields, it abides its time to return, and when vigilance is relaxed, or the dynasty has perished it silently resumes the throne from which it has been expelled, but which it never abdicates. It bears no blazonry of bloom to charm the senses with fragrance or splendor, but its homely hue is more enchanting than the lily or the rose. It yields no fruit in earth or air, and yet should its harvest fail for a single year, famine would depopulate the earth.
