LXXI
In the Lower Garden
The Rose
WHY do you leave me always here?
For me no usefulness is found;
I have no beauty anywhere;
Will you not tear me from the ground?
The Gardener
Watch ye the lilies how they grow,
They neither toil nor make complaint.
Look at their gentleness, and know
They are a strength to stay the faint.
The Rose
I do not see the lilies, Lord,
And I am weary of this waste.
The Gardener
Watch ye the grass upon the sward;
The lily never grows in haste.
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