God's Garden

This is my favorite garden decoration. I had one in NY (below) and I just bought the one above for my present garden. 

I do feel nearer to God when I’m in the garden. I feel relaxed and forget about anything else. I’m in my own little world. I’m happiest when I’m out there working the soil and enjoying my plants.

THE Lord God planted a garden

In the first white days of the world,

And He set there an angel warden

In a garment of light enfurled.

So near to the peace of Heaven,

That the hawk might nest with the wren,

For there in the cool of the even

God walked with the first of men.

And I dream that these garden closes

With their shade and their sun-flecked sod

And their lilies and bowers of roses,

Were laid by the hand of God.

The kiss of the sun for pardon,

The song of the birds for mirth, –

One is nearer God's heart in a garden

Than anywhere else on earth.

For He broke it for us in a garden

Under the olive-trees

Where the angel of strength was the warden

And the soul of the world found ease.

                                             

                                  By Dorothy Frances Gurney

Love, Friendship and Rose

My rose friend and mentor, the late Grace Tedesco.

Love is like the wild rose-briar;
Friendship like the holly-tree.
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms,
But which will bloom most constantly?

By Emily Bronte

The Rose and the Tall Dark Tree

Once bloomed a rose so young and fair

With dark brown eyes and long black hair



Beside her be a tall dark tree

Whose branches stretch to smother thee



Too close beside the shadowy bark

That soon begins to leave its mark



She cries for help, but none shall hear

Her thorns too sharp, who’d dare go near?



To save this rose, who’d risk their life?

With naught to gain but pain and strife



Alone, afraid, she lays to rest

Her heart beats low inside her chest



And with the hour growing near

She sheds her final grieving tear



And so the rose soon falls asunder

Her final day, eternal slumber



She lies beside the old dark tree

The only one who mourns for thee.



                             Nina Hernandez, 2010

A Little Budding Rose

Powerhouse - a MiniFlora Rose

It was a little budding rose,

Round like a fairy globe,

And shyly did its leaves unclose

Hid in their mossy robe,

But sweet was the slight and spicy smell

It breathed from its heart invisible.



The rose is blasted, withered, blighted,

Its root has felt a worm,

And like a heart beloved and slighted,

Failed, faded, shrunk its form.

Bud of beauty, bonnie flower,

I stole thee from thy natal bower.



I was the worm that withered thee,

Thy tears of dew all fell for me;

Leaf and stalk and rose are gone,

Exile earth they died upon,

Yes, that last breath of balmy scent

With alien breezes sadly blent!

                                                Emily Bronte

                                                1818-1848

Rose Verse - Roses Speak

Roses Speak



Something deep in the heart of a rose

Is tender beyond compare

Like the first blush of dawn or a baby’s yawn

It touches hearts everywhere.



Though mute, they inspire compassion

In a gentle way all their own . . .

Imagine a world without roses

Or a place where no roses are grown!



If roses spoke for the people,

The world would have peace overnight

Nothing to solve, or bargain,

But a rosy world, blooming bright!



                                By Marge Powell

Sun City, Arizona

American Rose Annual 1968

On Books

Photo Credit - Olga Pogodina @Unsplash.com 

“Who hath a book has friends at hand

And gold and gear at his command,

And rich estates if he but look,

Are held by him who hath a book.

Who hath a book has but to read

And he may be king indeed;

His kingdom is his inglenook;

All this is his who hath a book

                                Wilber Dick Nesbitt

                                1871-1927

The Rose of the World

Let Freedom Ring

Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?

For these red lips, with all their mournful pride,

Mournful that no new wonder may betide,

Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam,

And Usna’s children died.

We and labouring world are passing by:

Amid men’s souls, that waver and give place

Like the pale waters in their wintry race,

Under the passing stars, foam of the sky,

Lives on this lonely face.

Bow down, archangels, in your dim abode:

Before you were, or any hearts to beat,

Weary and kind one lingered by His seat;

He made the world to be a grassy road

Before her wondering feet.

                             

                                   William Butler Yates 1865-1939