In a Country Garden

When I must leave the earth, I hope to see
The gentle Master by a willow tree,
A wild canary pouring forth its song,
And a little river dancing all along
Its way through gardens. I would feel alone
And shy before Him on a golden throne,
But in a country garden, He would reach
His arms to me and speak the simple speech
I know. And I would run the Him and say,
"I'm glad you have a garden. May I stay
And help you tend it? Then I would not grieve
For all earth's beauty that I had to leave.
I know the ways of gardens, country-wild ..."
And he would smile and answer, "Yes, my child."

Where April Sings Forever

When I am old and years have brought their gray,
Let me still walk a garden path with love
Remembering fire-opaled yesterday,
Seeing the white-winged gulls of hope above;
Where dreams still lingering an accolade,
Recall the lilac song-gifts I have known,
The tribute which the robins gladly paid,
The wealth of beauty every soul may own.
In this loved garden, let my heart by young--
Years may enhance the lilting power to sing.
Perhaps my sweetest song is yet unsung
So bid me feel the springtime burgeoning.
But let me stroll a garden where time's lever
Moves on, yet April sings in hearts forever.

I Love the Old

The hills no longer echo songs I sang
When copper glow announced the break of day.
The winding trails where children's laughter rang
Are concrete walks; and all along the way
Where pink wild roses, modestly yet gay,
Lifted their faces to the sun are found
Their cultured sisters flaunting an array
Of brilliant color. Thirsty, parching ground
Is now a greening carpet where abound
Tall junipers with pfitzers at their feet.
The loved old rambling home, enlarged and gowned
In luxury, is leisure's calm retreat.
Upon my soul the homestead left its stamp
For still I love to light the coal-oil lamp.

Will a Robin Call?

Can Heaven be more beautiful than this,
My country garden that I soon must leave?
I wonder, will there be a dark abyss
To cross, or will I simply step--nor grieve--
From earth to Heaven? Will a robin call
And wild canaries flit through willow trees?
Will laughter echo in a waterfall
And lilacs ballet with a canyon breeze?
Will butterflies adorn the golden cups
Of daffodils? Will there be rambling lawns
To lure my footsteps where a bold bee sups
On clover honey? There, will coral dawns
Be pierced by crystal lark-flutes? Will there be
A garden such as this to welcome me?

Green Thumb

Why envy me for my green thumb?
My garden was not made
Just wishing for the beautiful--
I used the hoe and spade.

In My Winter Garden

She was little and wrinkled
And her hair was white
As the snow at her feet,
But her eyes were bright
As Black-eyed Susans--
With butterflies flitting--.
She spoke: nymphs of joy
Pirouetted, outwitting
The coldness of winter.
She said with a smile,
"How lovely that summer
Is resting awhile
Beneath all this beauty
White-sculptured in snow!"--
Now, in my winter garden
Black-eyed Susans grow.

Hon. Men. in Archer "People in Winter" Contest