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A
continuation of this popular theme. Nature
pleases, attracts, delights, merely because it is nature. A few minutes ago
every tree was excited, bowing to the roaring storm, waving, swirling,
tossing their branches in glorious enthusiasm like worship. But though
to the outer ear these trees are now silent, their songs never cease.
Every hidden cell is throbbing with music and life, every fiber thrilling
like harp strings, while incense is ever flowing from the balsam bells
and leaves. No wonder the hills and groves were God’s first temples, and
the more they are cut down and hewn into cathedrals and churches, the
farther off and dimmer seems the Lord himself. In the garden the
door is always open into the “holy” — growth, birth, death. Every flower
holds the whole mystery in its short cycle, and in the garden we are never
far away from death, the fertilizing, good creative death. . . . Everything
that slows us down and forces patience, everything that sets us back into
the slow circles of nature, is a help. Gardening is an instrument of grace.
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