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IN THE LOWER GARDEN
The Gardener
Know ye the spirit of your kind?
It is not Mine to make it so;
Colour and form are of the mind;
Ponder the lilies, how they blow!
The Rose
Now do I feel a bud of life
Springing from out my slender trail.
The Gardener
Soon you will bear the fruit of strife
That draws to earth the Holy Grail.
The Rose
Grant me the fulness of Thy grace,
An open heart, that ever knows
Wisdom and strength Thy love to trace,
Blossoming forth a full-blown rose.
The Gardener
Ponder the lilies! Pomp and pride,
Wisdom and honour, wealth and dress,
Solomon's glory never vied
With all the splendour they possess!
The Rose
Give me just wisdom, peace of mind,
To be the Watchman of my Tower.
