Part 37 (2/2)

THE GARDEN OF LIFE

G.o.d'S GARDEN

_The years are flowers and bloom within Eternity's wide garden; The rose for joy, the thorn for sin, The gardener G.o.d, to pardon All wilding growths, to prune, reclaim, And make them rose-like in His name._

RICHARD BURTON

”THE LORD G.o.d PLANTED A GARDEN”

The Lord G.o.d planted a garden In the first white days of the world, And He set there an angel warden In a garment of light enfurled.

So near to the peace of Heaven, That the hawk might nest with the wren, For there in the cool of the even G.o.d walked with the first of men.

And I dream that these garden-closes With their shade and their sun-flecked sod And their lilies and bowers of roses, Were laid by the hand of G.o.d.

The kiss of the sun for pardon, The song of the birds for mirth,-- One is nearer G.o.d's heart in a garden Than anywhere else on earth.

DOROTHY FRANCES GURNEY

THE LILIES

Ever the garden has a spiritual word: In the slow lapses of unnoticed time It drops from heaven, or upward learns to climb, Breathing an earthly sweetness, as a bird Is in the porches of the morning heard; So, in the garden, flower to flower will chime, And with the music thought and feeling rhyme, And the hushed soul is with new glory stirred.

Beauty is silent,--through the summer day Sleeps in her gold,--O wondrous sunlit gold, Frosting the lilies, virginal array!

Green, full-leaved walls the fragrant sculpture hold, Warm, orient blooms!--how motionless are they-- Speechless--the eternal loveliness untold!

GEORGE E. WOODBERRY

BARTER

Life has loveliness to sell, All beautiful and splendid things, Blue waves whitened on a cliff, Soaring fire that sways and sings, And children's faces looking up Holding wonder like a cup.

Life has loveliness to sell, Music like a curve of gold, Scent of pine trees in the rain, Eyes that love you, arms that hold, And for your spirit's still delight, Holy thoughts that star the night.

Spend all you have for loveliness, Buy it and never count the cost; For one white singing hour of peace Count many a year of strife well lost, And for a breath of ecstasy Give all you have been, or could be.

SARA TEASDALE

SONNET

Drop me the seed, that I, even in my brain, May be its nouris.h.i.+ng earth. No mortal knows From what immortal granary comes the grain, Nor how the earth conspires to make the rose;

But from the dust and from the wetted mud Comes help, given or taken; so with me Deep in my brain the essence of my blood Shall give it stature until Beauty be.

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