THE GARDEN.
IN this still garden in the cool of day
I often meditate:—
Should He who walked in Eden come this way
And consecrate
This place of bloom with Presence passing fair
And robes that make more sweet this summer air!
I often meditate:—
Should He who walked in Eden come this way
And consecrate
This place of bloom with Presence passing fair
And robes that make more sweet this summer air!
Anon a Voice far of yet near I catch
And question,—Comes He now?
The virgin lilies that for Him keel watch
Do lowly bow,
And the meek grasses lowlier yet to greet
His soft approach and reverent kiss His feet.
And question,—Comes He now?
The virgin lilies that for Him keel watch
Do lowly bow,
And the meek grasses lowlier yet to greet
His soft approach and reverent kiss His feet.
But as for me who cannot see Him pass
Yet fain would feel Him near,
I bow me lowlier even than the grass,
In love and fear;
Far lowlier than the lilies on their stem,
And through them press to touch His garment's hem!
Yet fain would feel Him near,
I bow me lowlier even than the grass,
In love and fear;
Far lowlier than the lilies on their stem,
And through them press to touch His garment's hem!
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