We grow where none but God, Life's Gardener, Upon the sterile sod Bestows His care. Our morn and evening dew -- The sacrament That maketh all things new -- From heaven is sent; And thither, ne'er in vain, We look for aid, To find the punctual rain Or sun or shade, Appointed hour by hour To every need, Alike of parent flower Or nursling seed; Till, blossom-duty done, With parting smile, We vanish, one by one, To sleep awhile. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ANTONIO by LAURA ELIZABETH HOWE RICHARDS EN TOUR; A SONG SEQUENCE: 3. GENOA by ALBERTA BANCROFT INSTRUCTIONS FOR A BALLET by MAXWELL BODENHEIM THE SPHINX by HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL A PRAYER IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH by ROBERT BURNS |