This is kinda long but it's so good. it was written by a missionary's wife after the loss of their son who was 4.

 

The Gardener's Choice

 

i had four lovely roses

that in my garden grew.

i tended them and loved them

each day and night all through

 

they were just buds, i know 'tis true,

all delicate and fair;

dew-kissed and radiant

of various hues - and rare

 

each one was growing stalwart

and sturdy on its stem

'neath rays of summer's sunshine

and shower, now and then.

 

i watched my dainty blossoms

swaying gently in the breese,

and thanked the God who gave them

that He had given these!

 

and then- one sunny morning

i strooled to the garden gate

to tend my precious flowers;

but, lo-i'd come to late!

 

behold, one lovely rosebud,

gentle, sweet and true,

was missing from my garden!

my heart was smitten through!

 

i'd planted them, and loved them

and nourished them with care;

how then could one choice blossom

mysteriously disappear?

 

while tearfully i pondered

the question of why and where-

the gardener chief my shoulder touched

in midst of my despair.

 

my child, why do you weep and moan

here in my garden lone?

twas i who plucked your cherished rose

to garnish my fair home

 

i peered at him in wonder

i fail to understand;

have you not full-blossomed roses

in your vast gardened land?

 

i have, he said, and comely,

not ready-though they would-

while yours, though but a bud

erect and ready stood.

 

you see, i watch MY blossoms,

entrusted to your care,

and take them-or leave them-

when i wish-or where.

 

your untarnished roselet

so dew-pearled and sweet,

i've placed smong the other buds

about the master's feet.

 

across the distant azure blue,

in the realms of pearl and gold,

your rose awaits your coming

by plucking-or by trumpet's toll!

 

my earth-bound face i lifted

toward the gracious gardener, i knew,

who in his greater wisdom,

took my roseling from my few.

 

Forgive my grief and sorrow-

my bitterness and woe-

for-if they fingers touched him

twas best for him to go

 

now i'll leave my blossoms

all tended in a row

to the one who loved and made them

for his presence's glow.

 

trudie e neighbour