TITLE: Where He Bid Me Come
By Yvonne Osborne
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Into my garden I softly tread wherein my dream you bid me come,
As high the moon across my bed casts softer light than any sun,
Amidst the bowers of dappled green and showers of silvery dew,
And perfumed edge, sage and sedge, where lily flowers once grew.
No breath of boughs disturbs the pool, a fragile web of ebb and flow,
Clutching to its heart a star thrown far from heaven and deep below
Within its darkening depths deplores its fading beauty in regret,
And hides beneath its glittering brim the trampled tread of mans neglect.
Around its dipping edge the soil lays hold the dying grasses sway,
As tangled briar and trefoil blade blunt the ox-eyed daisies way,
Somewhere far oíer tufted lawns a muffled and a muted trill,
Where once there grew the scarlet rose, the lavender and daffodil.
Where every seed was sown in faith and every blossom was a friend,
And here I prayed, to each their need, to weep their cause and so defend,
How sweet the hours and sweeter still when oft I heard thy Spirit call.
And in thy glorious presence heed thy Grace and mercy to them all.
So long the toil, yet so blessed, though weary now my aged frame,
Wanders down the years all gone, the aged oak to lean upon, as rain
Moon-coloured gently weeps where shadows and the darkness meet,
And butter-cups spill heavenís tears and spreads the pearls about my feet.
Into my broken heart you come softly as a butterfly kiss,
Never has Love been known to me, so near, so dear, so sweet as this,
ďMy child I heard you in the night, the weeping of my dearest own,
I heard you calling out my name and now Iím come to take you home.
Though all about you here seems lost, your prayers gone in the grave of time,
As sure as earth rebirths her own you too have been forever mine,
Come now and stand at Heavenís dawn, no tyrantís hand shall slay thee here,
Rise up upon thy trembling wings and mourn no more for I am near.Ē
From the deep fountains of my heart comes the heart of a child that sings,
Unfettered joy shall not depart nor life nor strength on eagles wings,
The tears of years He gently holds, the fragile waters of my grief,
And heals with love as strong as steel and holds with loving arms beneath.
Oh thou who mourns upon thy way, I do not sleep, I am not dead,
See where the perfumed petals lay, He scattered there upon my bed,
The scarlet rose brought forth her bloom in sweet farewell now all is done,
As in His image now I rise in joy where He has bid me come.
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