Gardener of Eden and Gethsemane, Gently unearth this rosebush that has grown In the sunken garden of my heart, and be Gentle to her who yields it yet unblown. Gardener of Eden, where this tender stem Henceforth will know the strength of other fingers, And these leaves brush another's garment hem -- You will not care if round the root there lingers Something of native soil to swell the bud Till that root sinks in You as once in me. . . . Unearth the rosebush of my flesh and blood, Gardener of Eden -- and Gethsemane! |