O God, be gentle to this garden spot. 
Here have I rested on a summer day, 
Drinking the wine of the forgevmemot, 
Breaking the bread that fulbblown roses lay 
Before my hungering eyes, filling my ear 
With bells of tulips ringing bright and clear. 
Here have I slept when night came to each flower, 
Wrapped in these shadows, pillowed at my head 
With velvet pansies through the darfl's blue hour; 
Here have I dreamed, and I was comforted. 
O flindly Father, write upon your scroll 
This is a petalled tavern for the soul. 
DANIEL WHITEHEAD HICKY. 
