An English Country Garden

God said:

When it comes right down to it, there are times when life shakes you up and may leave you weary. Of course, you would love to be clear about life, what it is doing, and what you are to do with it. Too often you may feel you are treading choppy waters.

You really don’t want life to put you to sleep, yet you wouldn’t mind doing more paddling downstream in a canoe. You would like to lean back and look up at the Light of the Sun and sweet white clouds by day and a slip of the Moon and the sparkle of Stars by night. You know you don’t want raging storms. April Showers are okay. You wouldn’t mind a little dry spell either, not too much. You would really like Life on Earth to be clear sailing with only a few small doses of mystery here and there, nothing startling, life made of clear blessings and good fortune, the kind of good fortune that is plain and simple, fortune that engages with you and don’t chew your nails about.

Even on your canoe ride, you want the Earth solidly under you. In the life you would choose, there would be no cliffs to fall off.

You have more of an acquaintance with insecurity than is to your liking.

You would skip all the battle hymns of the republic. No sad songs for you. Only happy songs for you, and dancing around the maypole and Santa on his way.

You would keep much of Life on the ready in your pocket, while some of life you would skip over. You would like life to be somewhere over the rainbow and made of light-hearted handsprings and not have to have to carry an umbrella and long for the Good Old Summertime.

There are songs, and there are lyrics that run through your head. You wonder how Life lent itself to song, and you wonder how songs and lyrics exist. What would Life be like without all these songs to run through your mind? What songs has the world forgotten that you never heard? What songs will come after that you will not have a chance to sing?

You wonder what the music in Heaven really is like. Do writers of songs and poetry exist in Heaven? You are sure there must not be machinists who make sparks and farmers with their back to their plows. What crops would there be to plant? What flowers to pick? What mulberry bushes to dance around? There would be no mistakes to make. Only more goodness to reap.

What fun would there be?

A halo must weigh nothing, and you would never take it off, now, would you?

You wouldn’t wear shoes.

You wouldn’t have to pull up your socks.

There would be no books to read, no plays to go to.

What will you think about when you are in Heaven?

There are no vocations in Heaven, nor would there be vacations.

Are days measured in time? Most certainly not.

There would be no time to while.

No hours to count.

No oranges to squeeze.

No dust to wipe off.

Do the angels miss Earth, or are the angels too busy being angels?

What is it like to be free of debt and worry? You would love to try this out even as you are not sure how much you truly want to be without cares. Still, you would like to give life a whirl in an English Country Garden.

In an English Country Garden

How many gentle flowers grow
In an English country garden?
I'll tell you now of some I know
And those I'll miss I hope you'll pardon.
Daffodils, heart's ease and flox
Meadowsweet and lily stalks
Gentain, lupine and tall hollyhocks
Roses, foxgloves, snowdrops, forget-me-nots
In an English country garden.

How many insects find their home
In an English country garden?
I'll tell you now of some I know
Those I miss I hope you'll pardon.
Dragonflies, moths and bees
Spiders falling from the trees
Butterflies sway in the mild gentle breeze
There are hedgehogs that roam
And little gnomes
In an English country garden.

How many songbirds make their nests
In an English country garden?
I'll tell you now of some I know
Those I miss I hope you'll pardon.
Bobolink, coo cooing doves
Blackbirds and the whirlwind thrush
Bluebird, lark, pigeon, nightingale
We all smile in the spring
When the birds all start to sing
In an English country garden.

Robin, don't forget the Robin.
Lyrics by Nana Mouskouri