In wounded places, I sometimes dwell;
But yet, in a garden, I find all is well.
A man and a woman, a long time ago,
With God there beside them, in a garden did stroll.
Much later, our Savior, in deep agony,
Prayed — sweating blood — under a garden’s tree.
But, wonder of wonders, from death, did He not
Appear to a maiden? — “A gardener!” she thought.
Is heaven a garden? My heart seems to tell,
Such sweet heaven for me, in a garden to dwell.
clarakatalin 
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