Poems (Rowe)/The Garden of my Soul

by Louise Jopling Rowe

THE GARDEN OF MY SOUL

CHRIST in the Garden of my Soul
 Walked with me, hand in hand.
The flaming Poppies tossed their heads,
 And glorified the Land.

Yet Christ said: "Why these gaudy flowers
 Flaunting their varied hues?
They tell of Prejudice and Pride,
 Of stubborn wilful views."

For Lilies then we vainly sought,
 Few in that Garden grew,
"Their day was over," so folks said,
 "The old gives place to new.

"This poison plant of Envy's growth,
 That ripens in the shade,
See, what a dark, and hideous shape,
 Upon the ground is laid.

"And all these rank and bitter weeds,
 That choke the fair flower's growth,
Ah! Daughter!" sadly did he speak,
 "These are the fruits of sloth!"

And to the farthest end we came,
 Upon a barren plot
Where sunrays rioted all day,
 A sweet and lovely spot.

Is nothing planted here?" Christ said,
 "Does this good ground go waste?
Ah! shameless Daughter, fetch your tools,
 And till it in all haste!"

And pale, and sad, I wandered on,
 By the dear Master's side.
I looked upon my Garden fair,
 With now no glance of pride.

Then in a corner Christ espied
 A pure white Rose of Love,
The splendour of its radiance shone
 All other flowers above.

And from its breast a perfume stole,
 A fragrance sweet and chaste,
"Ah! but for this," Christ smiling spake,
 "Your Paradise were waste!"

Then in the Garden of my Soul
 The Birds sang loud and strong,
And happiness and joy awoke
 In answer to their song.

For Christ had found the flower of Love,
 What mattered all beside?
Greater than this no other is,
 For Love Christ lived and died!