Grass

The congregation sings,—

Grass in the field,

Lilly in the field—

We sprout up, sing our praise

With all of nature,

Who sings with tiny little spirits,

Innocent little doves.

Sway, sing the praise hymn.—

We are grass.

Here for a short breath of time

We are seeds,

We grow, wither hoar,

Become soot,

And are fed upon by the lilies in the valley.