I know a garden sheltered from the north
And east by lichened walls and stately trees
Facing the south in rows are bursting forth
Masses of bright flowers, fertilised by bees;
In it from early morn, with spade and hoe,
A good man trenches, digs, and plants, that things may grow.
I would my mind were like that garden fair—
A fruitful soil touched by the spade of God!
No weeds of prejudice might grow up there,
No tares of ignorance disgrace the sod,
But Wisdom, glad of such a soil and ground,
Would plant her flowers therein—to scatter fragrance round.
1904