God of the garden, Eden's land,
where plants and trees brought rich delight;
where man and woman pleasure found,
fulfilled in all things, day and night.
Creator, Father, thanks we give
to you, the author of our joys,
and yet, despite these gifts, we grieve
for all that humankind destroys.

God of the garden, place of pain,
Gethsemane of darkest hour
where Jesus wept in anguish torn,
and evil forces showed their power.
Creator, Father, Lord sublime,
our Saviour Christ was crucified;
he bore our sins, our guilt, our shame,
and conquered death the day he died.

God of the garden by the tomb,
where Mary sobbed that Sunday morn,
and as she stood, bereaved and numb,
mistook the gardener in the dawn.
Creator, Father, give us faith
to recognise our living King,
to whom, the source of love and truth,
our lives, a sacrifice, we bring.

God of the garden yet-to-be,
fair Paradise of heavenly love;
where Christ, our all-in-all, shall say
'Come, taste the Tree of Life above.'
Creator, Father, in the calm,
where ours is not to question why,
we'll sing our everlasting hymn
before your garden-throne on high.


Michael Saward (b.1932)
© Michael Saward, admin. The Jubilate Group
Tune: Ye banks and braes Traditional Scottish 8888D