Garden And Gardener

To weed the Garden of the Mind     Of all rank growths of doubt and sin,     And let faith's flowers thrive and win     To blossom; and, through faith, to find     That lilies, too, can toil and spin,     And roses work for good and right;     That even the frailest flower that fills     A serious purpose, as God wills,     Is all man needs to give him light,     Is all he needs for all his ills.     Here is a Garden gone to flowers     While one beside it runs to weeds     Yet both were sown with similar seeds:     What was it? Did the World, or Hours,     Bring forth according to their needs?     Or was it that the Gardener     Neglected one? or did not care     What growths matured to slay and snare?     Thinking, whatever might occur,     Labour, perhaps, would manage there.     But Labour looked and took his ease,     Saying, "To-morrow I will do;     Will weed my Garden." And in view     Of all that work sat down at peace,     Waiting for something to ensue.     Whose fault? The Gardener's? Haply no     He sowed with fairest flowers the soil.     And yet, whence came the weeds that spoil     From Heaven! brought by winds that blow.     God give us all the gift to toil!