My old gardener leans on his hoe,
Tells me the way that green things grow;
“Goin' to church? Why no!
All Nature's church enough for me!”
Says he.

“Preachin' o' flower and choir o' bird
An' the wind passin' the plate!
Sweetest service ever I heard—
That's straight!
Eternal Rest?
What for, friend?
Gimme a swarm o' bees to tend,
A-honey-makin' world without end;
Scoop 'em right up and find the queen,
They'd not sting me—the bees ain't mean!”

“Heaven's all right!
But still, I'll kinder miss
The Lady Lunar moth at night,
And the White Wanderer butterfly
Crawlin' out of its chrysalis!
I want my heaven human too—
'Twixt me an' you—
Why I'd just love to see
A chipmunk hop up to the Lord
An' eat right out o' His dread Hand
Same as it does to me!
Eternity—eternity—
Don't it sound grand?
But say,
What's a matter with to-day?
Just step into the woods an' take a look—
Ain't that a page o' teachin' from the Holy Book?
‘He that hath eyes to see
An' ears to hear—’
I guess God's pretty near!
He'll understand, I know,
Why I ain't in no hurry to let June go!”

My old gardener turns to his hoe,
Helping the green things how to grow,
“The Missus can go to church for me,
Amen!” says he.