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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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