gardens are for growing gardeners

In distant place, a barren land blistered, beaten by sun and sand God whispered me, a silent plan plant a garden here young man Here my Lord? Scorched and dry rock and thistle, sand here lie all I plant can only die But what you say I surely try Give no heed to what you see All I say will come to be give care and all concern to me tend this ground on bended knee so man prayed as had been said gave all his work to faith instead the ground he broke and daily fed from heart and calloused hands that bled the sun became his burning crown but spared the consecrated ground Destruction rode the wind around but not the work that he put down Gentle rain with evening came It fell, no where else the same the ground grew rich, dark and tame all other ground but ruin and shame He labored long, spread hope and seed Kept from there the nagging weed He daily prayed the gardens need His love became the gardens feed From all the scorched and blistered land came plush, a green out of the sand From tender heart and callouse hand erupted splender from a plan Outstreched upon his wondrous ground face impale in the dirt he found as though in earth a man could drown He sealed with thanks each single mound Then came again the voice once heard It trembled in his heart as word Well you've done and well you serve all with heart and steady nerve I give you now much greater worth A finished garden not of earth prepared for you before your birth Her only need to make her first Give only gentle, tender care only truth must come to bear bathe her deep in daily prayer All harshness, any anger spare Give not to much to other men She grows upon the time you spend Take not from her to give to them they are pretenders, she the friend Give all concern to what you grow each day examine what you sow All you give, in time will show depth of care, revealed in row She is the vessle of my plan Shaped and moulded by my hand She is the vessle of my plan She is sent to grow a man.