If you are looking Gods Garden Poems, you can find them here. Robert Forrest’s poem of God and the famous poem “God looked around his garden” and other funeral prayers will be read.
If you look at God’s creation, your thoughts will surely go to the beauty of the garden. They may contain flowers, vegetables and even trees. This beauty of God’s creation impresses you so much that you like to read such poems at the funeral of a loved one.
Table of Contents
God’s Garden – Popular Funeral Prayer
God looked around his garden
And found an empty place.
He then looked down upon the earth,
And saw your tired face.
He put His arms around you
And lifted you to rest.
God’s garden must be beautiful,
He always takes the best.
He knew that you were suffering,
He knew that you were in pain.
He knew that you would never
Get well on earth again.
He saw the road was getting rough
And the hills were hard to climb.
So He closed your weary eyelids
And whispered “Peace be thine.”
It broke our hearts to lose you
But you did not go alone…
For part of us went with you
The day God called you home.
God made a beauteous garden
With lovely flowers strown,
But one straight, narrow pathway
That was not overgrown.
And to this beauteous garden
He brought mankind to live,
And said “To you, my children,
These lovely flowers I give.
Prune ye my vines and fig trees,
With care my flowers tend,
But keep the pathway open
Your home is at the end.
What are they,the white roses,
when they are almost nothing,
only a little denser than the fog,
shadow-centered petals blurring,
toward the edges, into everything?
This morning one broken cloud
built an archipelago,
fourteen gleaming islands
hurrying across a blank plain of sheen:
nothing, or next to nothing
pure scattering, light on light,
And now, a heap of roses
beside the sea, white rugosa
beside the foaming hem of shore:
And we talk
as if death were a line to be crossed.
Look at them, the white roses.
Tell me where they end.
Short Verses about God’s Garden
God Almighty first planted a garden; and indeed,
it is the purest of human pleasures.
It is the greatest refreshment to the spirits of man,
without which buildings and palaces are but gross handiworks.
We Can’t Imagine
God created the garden of Eden
A garden we can’t even imagine.
A garden beyond our creation
No matter how strong our passion.
When our work is done on earth
May our belief in Jesus and our life be worth
A place in heaven where we will find
Beautiful gardens of every kind!
I Saw God Wash The World
William L. Stidger
I saw God wash the world last night
with His sweet showers on high,
and then, when morning came, I saw
Him hang it out to dry.
He washed each tiny blade of grass
and every trembling tree;
He flung His showers against the hill,
and swept the billowing sea.
The white rose is a cleaner white,
the red rose is more red,
since God washed every fragrant face
and put them all to bed.
There’s not a bird, there’s not a bee
that wings along the way
but is a cleaner bird and bee
than it was yesterday.
I saw God wash the world last night.
Ah, would he had washed me
As clean of all my dust and dirt
As that old white birch tree.
God Planted The Earth
God planted the earth
He gave the world birth
He created gardens for all to enjoy
We must be careful not to destroy
Enjoy the beauty of it all
No detail is too small
Beauty surrounds us each and everyday
Open your eyes and see it displayed.
The Tree God Plants
Lillian E. Barr
The wind that blows can never kill
The tree God plants;
It bloweth east, it bloweth west,
The tender leaves have little rest.
But any wind that blows is best;
The tree God plants
Strikes deeper root, grows higher still,
Spreads wider boughs, for God’s good will
Meets all its wants.
There is no frost hath power to blight
The tree God shields;
The roots are warm beneath soft snows,
And when Spring comes it surely knows.
And every bud to blossom grows.
The tree God shields
Grows on apace by day and night.
Till sweet to taste and fair to sight
Its fruit it yields.
There is no storm hath power to blast
The tree God knows;
No thunderbolt, nor beating rain,
Nor lightning flash, nor hurricane
When they are spent it doth remain.
The tree God knows
Through every tempest standeth fast.
And from its first day to its last
Still fairer grows.
If in the soul’s still garden-place
A seed God sows
A little seed – it soon will grow,
And far and near all men will know
For heavenly lands he bids it blow.
A seed God sows.
And up it springs by day and night;
Through life, through death, it groweth right;
Emma I. Coston
If you’ve ever made a garden,
With a love to see things grow,
You will own that every morning
It was hoe, hoe, hoe.
Were you ever in a vineyard
Where the grapes were ripe and thick?
When you went to fill your basket
You must pick, pick, pick.
If you’ve ever made a garment,
Here’s a fact you also know:
You were not then counting stitches;
It was sew, sew, sew.
Did you ever learn a lesson
Just by taking time to cry?
Or was this your resolution,
“I will try, try, try”?
Did you ever meet temptation
Like a lion in the way,
When you knew your only refuge
Was to pray, pray, pray?
Jesus is the way to heaven,
And if you get there, you must
Trust in his almighty power
Ever trust, trust, trust.
Garden Of The Lord
S. F. Deems
It is reasonable to suppose that the Eternal Father
desires to have this earth brought to perfect cultivation,
so that every spot shall be caused to bloom like the garden of the Lord;
or to be made like a part of His holy temple,
so that a human life shall be enjoyed in its perfection,
and the physical universe be the minister of the divine soul of man.
In a moment, in a twinkling of the eye,
He could make it such.
But He does not.
It may be centuries.
It may be cycles.
He leaves man to advance steadily, learning from falls,
and failures, and mistakes, –
each generation improving on its predecessor,
until the earth shall be subdued to the obedience of Christ.
There was no Golden Age behind us,
except in the minds of the poets.
There is a Golden Age before us,
and to that we must continually stretch forward.
A Garden Without Water
Charles H. Spurgeon
In the East, a garden without water soon ceases to be a garden at all;
nothing can come to perfection, grow, or even live.
When irrigation is kept up, the result is charming.
Oh, to have one’s soul watered by the Holy Spirit, uniformly, –
every part of the garden having its own stream; plentifully, –
a sufficient refreshment coming to every tree and herb,
however thirsty by nature it may be; continually, –
each hour bringing not only its heat, but its refreshment; wisely, –
each plant receiving just what it needs!
In a garden you can see by the verdure where the water flows,
and you can soon perceive where the Spirit of God comes.
I loved the house I built
By thought and work and prayer,
I loved the garden too.
I planted with such care.
But back of my desire
These transients to possess,
Was just my spirit’s urge
God’s beauty to express.
God’s garden, where tall lilies grow,
Silver and golden and sweet;
Where crimson roses only blow
To shed their bloom at his feet;
Purple pansies, with hearts of fire,
Violets bathed in their own perfume.
‘Mid the rainbow tangle of flowers
Can a little herb find room?
God’s garden, where the thrushes sing
Ere spring has yet begun,
Where larks with dew upon the wing
Rise warbling to the sun.
Nightingales chant as the day grows dim,
Gayly glistens the hummingbird.
Through the choral notes of that great hymn
Can a little wren be heard?
Herbs can sweeten the bleak hillside
Where flowers can never grow;
Through winter frosts the wren will bide
And sing above the snow;
And God accepts with tender love
Their service true and sweet;
Can nightingales and roses give
An offering more complete?
God Bless the Grass
That grows through the crack they roll the concrete over it
To try and keep it back the concrete gets tired
Of what it has to do it breaks and it buckles
And the grass grows through.
God bless the grass
Dedication for a Plot of Ground
William Carlos Williams
This plot of ground
facing the waters of this inlet
is dedicated to the living presence of
Emily Dickinson Wellcome
who was born in England; married;
lost her husband and with
her five year old son
sailed for New York in a two-master;
was driven to the Azores;
ran adrift on Fire Island shoal,
met her second husband
in a Brooklyn boarding house,
went with him to Puerto Rico
bore three more children, lost
her second husband, lived hard
for eight years in St. Thomas,
Puerto Rico, San Domingo, followed
the oldest son to New York,
lost her daughter, lost her “baby,”
seized the two boys of
the oldest son by the second marriage
mothered them—they being
motherless—fought for them
against the other grandmother
and the aunts, brought them here
summer after summer, defended
herself here against thieves,
storms, sun, fire,
against flies, against girls
that came smelling about, against
drought, against weeds, storm-tides,
neighbors, weasels that stole her chickens,
against the weakness of her own hands,
against the growing strength of
the boys, against wind, against
the stones, against trespassers,
against rents, against her own mind.
She grubbed this earth with her own hands,
domineered over this grass plot,
blackguarded her oldest son
into buying it, lived here fifteen years,
attained a final loneliness and
If you can bring nothing to this place
but your carcass, keep out.
Read More: Poems about Gods Love