THE POOR MAN’S GARDEN. 17 
And here, on Sabbath-mornings, 
The good man conies to get 
His Sunday nosegay, moss-rose bud, 
White pink, and mignonette. 
And here, on Sabbath-evenings, 
Until the stars are out, 
With a little one in either hand. 
He walketh all about. 
For though his garden-plot is small, 
Him doth it satisfy ; 
For there’s no inch of all his ground 
That does not fill his eye. 
It is not with the rich man thus : 
For though his grounds are wide. 
He looks beyond, and yet beyond, 
With soul unsatisfied. 
Yes ! in the poor man’s garden grow 
Far more than herbs and flowers;— 
Kind thoughts, contentment, peace of mind, 
And joy for weary hours. 
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