My Garden

By James S. Kelly

I worked in my garden a while today,

And God was there; and I heard Him say

"Those roses of yours and the columbine,

With the jasmine sprouts that now entwine

The old south wall near the kitchen door

Are very pretty; but let’s look them o’re

And see if we can’t separate

The things you do from the [art I take.

You planted the seed," the Master said,

"You watered and tilled the flower bed,

But did you make the small seeds grow

To raise their heads in the morning glow

And draw their substance from the morning sun

That gives them strength to carry on?

Did you paint the blossoms of blue and gold

Did you give them fragrance, or did you mold

The shape and form of each lovely bloom,

Or did I do that and give you room

To work with me in the garden?" He said

I turned and the voice I heard had fled

But the words He spoke disturbed me much,

For I thought I gave those plants the touch

That made them grow in a vigorous way.

But He spoke again, and I heard Him say;

"Your garden and mine," and this puzzled me,

For I had learning and felt I should know

What seed I should plant and how they should grow

But this new doctrine of God and me

Changed that garden; and now I see

That it no longer is my own

But God’s and mine, and ours alone;

So, now when I plant, I have God for a guide

And we work that garden side by side.