 | Words by the Wayside |  |
28
To the Garden of My Soul
Didst thou, my soul, with thoughts for flowers,
Divinely as this garden glow,
What wealth were thine in sunless hours,
What peace when storms of winter blow!
Divinely as this garden glow,
What wealth were thine in sunless hours,
What peace when storms of winter blow!
What airs of heaven thy leaves would shake
That now droop spiritless and dumb,
And Oh! what answering whispers wake
In hearts that know not whence they come!
That now droop spiritless and dumb,
And Oh! what answering whispers wake
In hearts that know not whence they come!
Where gloomy shades around them close,
And the pale petals earthward turn,
Thy love should light the enraptured rose,
Or bid the constant sun-flower burn.
And the pale petals earthward turn,
Thy love should light the enraptured rose,
Or bid the constant sun-flower burn.
Now toss they 'neath the tempest's flail,
Now sink in numbness of despair,
Thy joy, thy peace, should still the gale,
Or vitalise the stagnant air.
Now sink in numbness of despair,
Thy joy, thy peace, should still the gale,
Or vitalise the stagnant air.
| Words by the Wayside | |