DAYS IN MY GARDEN 



surround him with all that delights and uplifts his soul, 

 in which there always lies, deeply buried perchance, 

 yet still there, the inborn desire and appreciation for 

 all that is beautiful ; the created craving is there and 

 the means provided to satisfy it abundantly. 



But only to a favoured few comes the chance of 

 seeing more than a tiny portion of the world. Few 

 eyes have feasted on primeval forest or viewed its 

 virgin soil, compared with those who work amid smoke 

 and grime, and live the life of toiling gregarious man ; 

 and,whenthe rare sight comes, necessity often prompts 

 him to despoil. 



Still, for those of us whose anchorage is limited, 

 there exists a world of infinite wonder and boundless 

 beauty, the inexhaustible charm of colour on every 

 hand, limitless life with all its marvels, the web of 

 design ; the workshop of the Mind that is at the back 

 of all. 



But where is 'my garden/ a plot perhaps think MY GARDEN 



, WHKBEITIS 



you, maybe an acre two or three ? Shall it be 



Where lines are drawn 'twixt flowers gay and weeds, 

 Concealing hedge, with paths, and beds of seeds, 

 In order prim and neatness all must grow, 

 The trees in pairs and plants all in a row ? 



