The Garden of God

Within the iron cities

One walked unknown for years,

In his heart the pity of pities

That grew for human tears.

When love and grief were ended

The flower of pity grew.

By unseen hands 't was tended

And fed with holy dew.

Though in his heart were barred in

The blooms of beauty blown,

Yet he who grew the garden

Could call no flower his own.

For by the hands that watered,

The blooms that opened fair

Through frost and pain were scattered

To sweeten the dead air.

Note: Originally published in the Irish Theosophist February 15, 1895. The title in the publication was In the Garden of God. The last line in that publication was: To sweeten the dull air.