Witness that Royal Bourse he bade arise,
The mart of merchants from the East and West;
Whose slender summit pointing to the skies,
Still bears, in token of his grateful breast,
The tender grasshopper, his chosen crest."
Thomas Hood.
A BLADE OF GRASS
John Ruskin
Gather a single blade of grass, and examine for a minute its narrow, sword-shaped strip of fluted green. Nothing there, as it seems of notable goodness or beauty. A very little strength and a very little tallness, and a few delicate long lines meeting in a point, not a perfect point either, but blunt and unfinished, by no means a creditable or apparently much-cared-for example of Nature's workmanship, made only to be trodden on to-day, and to-morrow to be cast into the oven, and a little pale and hollow stalk, feeble and flaccid, leading down to the dull brown fiber of roots.
And yet, think of it well, and judge whether of all the gorgeous flowers that beam in summer air, and of all strong and goodly trees, pleasant to the eyes, or good for food, stately palm and pine, strong ash and oak, scented citron, burdened vine, there be any by man so deeply loved, by God so highly graced, as that narrow point of feeble green. And well does it fulfill its mission. Consider what we owe merely to the meadow grass, to the covering of the dark ground by that glorious enamel, by the companies of those soft, and countless, and peaceful spears.
The fields! Follow forth but for a little time the thoughts of all that we ought to recognize in these words. All spring and summer is in them, the walks by silent and scented paths, the rests in noonday heat, the joy of herds and flocks, the power of all shepherd life and meditation, the life of sunlight upon the world falling in emerald streaks, and falling in soft blue shadows where else it would have struck upon the dark mold or scorching dust.