It was not Eden where I fell in sorrow —
It was another garden far removed in time and place
From our first parents, when my heart began to borrow
Against their loss and mine, a little grace.
I saw the angels flaming in that garden
With swords drawn round a life I had not been:
The sight that should have softened me could only harden —
No tears or rages ever moved an angel’s mien:
I was too comfortless to mourn;
And all the fruit my planting should have borne
Was lost to me in chasmic ages since the first man’s sin.
I turned away from life till sight was hidden
Under my unshed tears — I seemed to see,
Grown where a white dust blanches
A watered ground, another tree
Unkept by angels.
By no swords unbidden
To taste the hanging firstfruits of the branches,
I came upon a King crowned with a curse, outcast as me.
There I, no humbler than my God and more averse,
Was taught “Thy will, not mine” to frame,
And turned to mercy when He spoke.
It was not Eden where I awoke,
but in a garden by Golgotha when I heard my name,
And knelt beside Him in Gethsemane.