This is the garden’s magic,
That through the sunny hours The gardener who tends it,
Himself outgrows his flowers.
He grows by gift of patience,
Since he who sows must know
That only in the Lord’s good time
Does any seedling grow.
He learns from buds unfolding,From each tight leaf unfurled,That his own heart, expanding,
Is one with all the world.
He bares his head to sunshine,
His bending back a sign
Of grace, and ev’ry shower becomes His sacramental wine.
And when at last his labors Bring forth the very stuff
And substance of all beauty
This is reward enough.
~MARIE NETTLETON CARROLL~
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