There Is No Spot Of Ground, However

I Plant Rosemary All Over The Garden, So Pleasant Is It To Know That At Every Few Steps One May Draw The Kindly Branchlets Through One's Hand, And Have The Enjoyment Of Their Incomparable Incense; And I Grow It Against Walls, So That The Sun May Draw Out Its Inexhaustible Sweetness To Greet Me As I Pass.

There Is No Spot Of Ground, However Arid, Bare Or Ugly, That Cannot Be Tamed Into Such A State As May Give An Impression Of Beauty And Delight.

There Is A Lovable Quality About The Actual Tools. One Feels So Kindly To The Thing That Enables The Hand To Obey The Brain. Moreover, One Feels A Good Deal Of Respect For It; Without It The Brain And The Hand Would Be Helpless.

It Has Taken Me Half A Lifetime Merely To Find Out What Is Best Worth Doing, And A Good Slice Out Of Another Half To Puzzle Out The Ways Of Doing It.

The Good Gardener Knows With Absolute Certainty That If He Does His Part, If He Gives The Labour, The Love, And Every Aid That His Knowledge Of His Craft, Experience Of The Conditions Of His Place, And Exercise Of His Personal Wit Can Work Together To Suggest, That So Surely Will God Give The Increase. Then With The Honestly-earned Success Comes The Consciousness Of Encouragement To Renewed Effort, And, As It Were, An Echo Of The Gracious Words, 'well Done My Good And Faithful Servant'.