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To tend a garden takes a skill
That was to me not granted
I can’t recall which shoots are weeds
And which are things I’ve planted
I always choose the nicest blooms
To water, prune and nourish
But then I realize they’re weeds
And that is why they flourish
Underneath those weeds somewhere
There live some real flowers
I’d love to let them see the sun
But I haven’t got the hours
I know that careful planning would
Ensure fresh blooms all season
But my plans have been, thus far,
Beyond all scope of reason
I’m glad my Master Gardener tends
My life with much more care
He gently pulls out all my weeds
And plants more flowers there
His plan to help me grow and bloom
Will last throughout the years
And when I cling too fast to weeds
He waters me with tears
He prunes me with a gentle hand
Not tiring ‘til it’s done
Then welcomes me to turn my face
Towards the radiant Son
I choose to yield my life to Him
Though others choose to harden
If anyone should look at me
They'll see the Master’s garden
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