THE GARDENER

I see her in the blooming field, Where winds sport in the grass, And petals of the Summer yield Sweet perfumes to my lass. I see her gather flowers so bright, They almost match her face, Whose rapture is my soul’s delight— There I shall find God’s grace. Ah, grace of mercy to me flows When I look in her eyes; Her soul of love and beauty glows, And my life sanctifies. She is so simple in her joys, So childlike in her ways; When she the golden hour employs, In off’ring nature praise. She lifts the roots to plant again, In some sequestered spot, Where they may know a fairer reign, And beautify her plot— There, thrive from culture of her hand, Aim to engage her smile, Delight in blooming o’er the land Where she will tread the while. So God His wonders has revealed Through her, what growth can be, And in the process I am healed Of blindness, and can see That all the fields and woods are full, Of glories rich and rare— When she a little flower will pull, And set it in her hair.