Page:Poems Shipton.djvu/36

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Far on the breeze, each winged germ
 May mock thine anxious gaze:
Thou'lt find it in the fatherland,
 The growth of many days.

"Raise thou the bruised and broken plants
 The storm may bend around;
Shelter for me the tender vine
 Within thy garden-ground.
Let not the lack of harvest fruit
 Thy heart's allegiance move;
My hand deals forth the best for thee,
 And all is done in love.

"'Tis not for thee to judge the need
 Of watching, tears, and toil;
A fairer clime awaits thy plants,
 Now in a foreign soil.
And see! to cheer thy path awhile,
 This crystal brook shall run;
Its voice shall chime in happy praise
 With thine, my lonely one!"

I answered, "Lord, how good it is!
 How great Thy mercies be!
Yes, I will keep this garden-ground,
 And tend it but for Thee.