As Mary Walked in the Garden Green

As Ma­ry walked in the gar­den green

Of Jo­seph of Ari­ma­thee

Fair shrubs and flow­ers she passed be­tween

Tall palm and the wide plane tree.

’Twas ear­ly morn as with spice and balm

Full la­den she went

when lo!

She thought she heard in an ac­cent calm

A voice which she seemed to know:

I am the Gar­den­er true!

Mine are the vio­lets blue

The li­ly all white

And the rose so bright

And pan­sy of pur­ple hue!

As Ma­ry came to the tomb of stone

She could not her grief con­tain

Now full aware that no Christ was there

Who late in the rock had lain.

And bit­ter grief in her soul was stirred

When hard by the grave’s low cell

She felt right sure that a voice she heard

A voice which she knew full well:

As Ma­ry list­ened

she gazed around

When

dim in the morn­ing gloom

She saw One stand with a spade in hand

Full close to the sac­red tomb.

Good sir

now tell

hast thou borne Him hence?

O say where He now doth lie!

While lo! seemed borne to her list­en­ing sense

From some bless­èd bright One nigh:

As Ma­ry heark­ened

her name she heard:

O Ma­ry!— She turned in haste

And joy shone out at the gra­cious word

Which ev­ery fear ef­faced.

Rabboni! Lord! ’Twas her mas­ter good

She wel­comed with love’s sur­vey

Who ’neath a gar­dener’s guise had stood

And seemed to her soul to say:

As Ma­ry mused up­on things un­seen

She learnt how the Lord doth scan

And claim each flow­er­et and blos­som green

Which blooms in the heart of man.

Fair buds of hope

and of long­ings nigh

With pur­ity’s flow­er of snow

And glow­ing love with its ver­meil dye

And char­ity’s pur­ple glow.

He is the Gar­den­er true!

His are the vio­lets blue

The li­ly all white

And the rose so bright

And pan­sy of pur­ple hue!