DAYS IN MY GARDEN 



anxious and intent had he been to fit and prepare 

 himself for the future life that he had shut out and 

 forgotten the wondrous beauty in which he lived, 

 neglectful and blind to all its magnificence and mar- 

 vels. Unexpectedly recovering, he determined to 

 spend the few remaining years of his life in seeing 

 something of the beauties of the world in which God 

 had placed him. And I fancy I see something of the 

 look in the keen old eyes, under their long shaggy 

 brows, as he leaned on his stick and viewed from that 

 high elevation the spreading panorama below he 

 had found a new world, a new food to satisfy his once 

 weary mind and tired eyes. I catch, too, something in 

 his figure of disappointment at the thought of much 

 lost, and of the resolve to see more while there is yet 

 time, as he turns and sets his face up the mountain 

 steep, his long garb encumbering him as he walks, 

 yet so much a part of him that we would not wish it 

 discarded for any more convenient, and certainly less 

 picturesque, raiment. 



And then my memory goes back to childhood 

 spent in a lovely garden half wild, half wilderness 

 where the rough and broken surface had been trans- 



