Garden Magic
This is the garden's magic,
That through the sunny hours
The gardener who tends it, Himself outgrows his flowers.
He grows by gift of patience,
Since he who sows must know
That only in the Lord's good time
Does any seedling grow.
He learns from buds unfolding,
From each tight leaf unfurled,
That his own heart, expanding,
Is one with all the world.
He bares his head to sunshine,
His bending back a sign
Of grace, and ev'ry shower becomes
His sacramental wine.
And when at last his labors
Bring forth the very stuff
And substance of all beauty
This is reward enough.
-MARIE NETTLETON CARROLL
That through the sunny hours
The gardener who tends it, Himself outgrows his flowers.
He grows by gift of patience,
Since he who sows must know
That only in the Lord's good time
Does any seedling grow.
He learns from buds unfolding,
From each tight leaf unfurled,
That his own heart, expanding,
Is one with all the world.
He bares his head to sunshine,
His bending back a sign
Of grace, and ev'ry shower becomes
His sacramental wine.
And when at last his labors
Bring forth the very stuff
And substance of all beauty
This is reward enough.
-MARIE NETTLETON CARROLL
I strolled through my garden today,
looking in wonder at all that I see.
The daffodils are filling out,
the wild violets are peeping through,
the narcissus are shining bright,
the crocus are just awakening,
the pansies are smiling,
the rosemary is floral and fragrant,
the forsythia is about to flame into bloom,
the Hellebores are numerous and lifting their heads,
the Quince are showing their elegant beauty...
all around me is poetry.
I pause and thank God for his blessings and
for those who planted these some of delightsome flowers
ages before me.
