DAYS IN MY GARDEN 



The time of half-leaf to full-leaf, those days of 

 May in woods and fields, when heaven dips to lift the 

 soul of man. Oh ! ye who jostle in the race to outrun 

 time, to gain the prize which perisheth, unlock the 

 shackles of your mind and go, walk alone, with May ! 

 Tread the soft meadow grass, where thoughtless feet 

 may crush a thousand gems, behold the 



Summer-snow of apple-blossom 

 Running up from glade to glade 



and rest in the shade where bluebells haunt the leafing 

 woods. Look where the beech boles lift their heaven- 

 ward arms of zinc-hued grey, drooping like broken 

 spray with their million hosts in new-born green ; for- 

 get for one brief spell the breathless blinding race of 

 life, and enter the great galleries where God paints. 

 Let the filtering shafts of sunlight touch the dust of 

 life, and gild the dark places of your soul like the 

 sun-patched woods of spring. 



