The Gates of Time and Other Poems

by Frederick George Scott




My garden shows no bright array
    Of rich exotics in its beds,
But little sunbeams in it play,
    And leafy maples lift their heads.

The walks but scanty labour get,

    No skilful hands their borders trim,
But when the grass with dew is wet
    And distant hills are growing dim,

A quiet beauty round me falls,
    Wherein all imperfections hide,

And darkness builds her nunnery walls
    Between me and the world outside.

Then on the stone seat, looking far
    Into the distance o’er the vale,
I watch the friendly evening star

    Grow brighter as the sky grows pale.

Strange little people round me sleep,
    The ants that have so active been
Now in the sand their vigil keep
    Around the chambers of their queen.


The gentle birds are warm and still,
    Tucked in their nests among the trees,
While sweetest thoughts their dreaming fill
    In the soft rocking of the breeze.

And patient worms that ere the day

    Will push their noses through the soil,
Now gather all the strength they may
    To aid them for the morrow’s toil.

Haply a toad hops now and then
    Across the flagstones at my feet,

To tell me that not only men
    Have found that darkness is most sweet.

So in my garden night and day,
    With sunshine or with stars above,
God takes my petty cares away,

    And fills me with His perfect love.