MY GARDEN serene and passionless, now stormswept, again 

 OF DREAMS bright w i t h glorious sunlight, now cold and 

 forbidding, again luring us with a warmth of 

 touch that promises springtime. 



While something like terror is often felt in 

 listening to the winds on a night of storm, 

 there is a great restfulness to be had in watch- 

 ing a snow-storm. It falls in silence to cover 

 with warm blanket the living things in the 

 soil. It covers up and tucks in with protecting 

 hands while the plants sleep and dream of 

 March suns and April rains and May bloom. 



With all its changing moods the winter 

 garden has teaching plainly open to the ob- 

 servant eye. 



Winter means reserve and withdrawal. 

 Some one has said that "no one is ever intim- 

 ate with winter." And yet winter has the gift 

 of beauty to bestow. Does not many a human 

 face receive a finer charm with the frosting of 

 the hair? 



To many sensitive souls winter suggests 

 nothing but sadness and decay. They see only 

 the empty nests and the dead leaves. But do 

 not we know that the fledgelings of the deserted 



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