My Garden

When I make my pretty garden,
I will plant the brightest hues --
Golds and reds and pretty violets,
Whites and pinks and happy blues.

In my beautiful dear garden
There will be no hint of death,
For my love will hover o’er it
And prolong its latest breath.

Such will be my care and worry
O’er my little garden here,
It will never hear of sorrow,
Nor of sickness, nor of fear.

Here in hope and joy and goodness,
All my little buds will spring,
Till I take them from their gardens
To be Mary’s offering.

Then their joy will only deepen,--
They will jump into my hand
To be presents to our Lady,
So delightful and so grand.

There, they know, a better gardener,
Will o’erlook them from her throne,
And their breath will be eternal,
And her sweet perfume their own.

O dear Mother, take this garden
Of my soul, which blooms for thee,
Care for it, that it may blossom
At thy feet eternally!

~