The Flowers that grow in God’s Garden
Are perfect beyond compare,
For they grow completely unhindered
As no weeds are ever found there.
The Garden is always so peaceful
Clothed in a vapour of love,
And adorned in a golden mantle
Befitting of Heaven above.
As we gaze on the Flowers in their glory
And gently their fragrance is spread,
We slowly lose sight of the Garden
And see the Master instead.
The Flower of Humility
The roots of Love are deep and spread out
Lending their strength and support,
And Humility needs unlimited strength
When a battle with Pride’s to be fought.
It’s a flower which seems potentially weak
When the weeds in the garden crowd round
But with Love and Compassion inborn in its roots
Its quiet strength is profound.
So when you observe this beautiful flower
Take time to ponder its worth,
It’s sure to impress you, and I know it will show you
Something of Heaven, on Earth.
I once dreamt of a garden uncared for
Overgrown with brambles and weeds,
Then the Gardener began to transform it
Attending to all of its needs
The first phase was to clear all the rubbish
Enabling the flowers to survive,
For the beauty was all being stifled
But with care could all come alive.
He pruned all the shrubs and the fruit trees
And at times seemed quite ruthless to me,
But I’m sure that He had the vision
Of what I was not able to see.
Then to my surprise He spoke to me
And gently began to explain
That if I invited Him into my life,
He would do exactly the same.
“I’d help you to clear all the debris away
All the things that you’re troubled about,
Any grudges and unwanted items,
The things you can well do without.
Then you’ll find your life like the garden
Is with peace and beauty adorned,
As the flowers add grace to the garden
So your life will be gently transformed.
For I am the Gardener whom Mary met
On that first Resurrection Day,
I’ll help you and never forsake you
And I’ll lead you, for I am the Way.”
The Flower of Memory
There’s a Flower of Memory in the Garden of Life,
That changes as time passes by,
New petals are born, some petals fade,
But few seem ever to die.