But when my mother came to hear
The crooked tune he made,
She said his instrument was like
Some pipes that Pan had played.
And I must ask the scissors-man
If he had ever known
Or met a queer old god who played
On pipes much like his own.
He would not tell: and when I asked
Who taught him how to play,
He made that crooked tune again,
And laughed and went away.
Grace Hazard Conkling
THE GARDEN OF LIFE
GOD'S GARDEN
The years are flowers and bloom within
Eternity's wide garden;
The rose for joy, the thorn for sin,
The gardener God, to pardon
All wilding growths, to prune, reclaim,
And make them rose-like in His name.