In The Garden
I come to the garden alone
While the dew is still on the roses
And the voice I hear falling on my ear
The Son of God
And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own;
And the joy we share as we
None other has ever known.
He speaks, and the sound of His voice,
Is so sweet the birds hush their singing,
And the melody that He gave to me
Within my heart is ringing.
I’d stay in the garden with
Though the night around me be falling,
But He bids me go; through the voice of woe
His voice to me is calling.
Words: Charles Austin Miles (1912)
Story: I read…the story of the greatest morn in history: “The first day of the week cometh Mary Magdalene early, while it was yet very dark, unto the sepulcher.” Instantly, completely, there unfolded in my
mind the scenes of the garden of Joseph….Out of the mists of the garden comes a form, halting, hesitating, tearful, seeking, turning from side to side in bewildering amazement. Falteringly, bearing grief in every accent, with tear-dimmed eyes, she whispers, “If thou hast borne him hence”… “He speaks, and the sound of His voice is so sweet the birds hush their singing.” Jesus said to her, “Mary!”
Just one word from his lips, and forgotten the heartaches, the long dreary hours….all the past blotted out in the presence of the Living Present and the Eternal Future. (Thanks to cyberhymnal.org)
Another Story: Here is the account of how this beautiful hymn was written—from the
hymn-writer C. Austin Miles himself: One day in April, 1912, 1 was seated in the dark room, where I kept my photographic equipment and organ. I drew my Bible toward me; it opened at my favorite chapter, John 20--whether by chance or inspiration let each reader decide. That meeting of Jesus and Mary had lost none of its power and charm.
As I read it that day, I seemed to be part of the scene. I became a silent witness to that dramatic moment in Mary's life, when she knelt before her Lord, and cried, Rabboni!
My hands were resting on the Bible while I stared at the
fight blue wall. As the light faded, I seemed to be standing at the entrance of a garden, looking down a gently winding path, shaded by olive branches. A woman in white, with head bowed, hand clasping her throat, as if to choke back her sobs, walked slowly into the shadows. it was Mary. As she came to the tomb, upon which she placed her hand, she bent over to look in, and hurried away.
John, in flowing robe, appeared, looking at the tomb; then came Peter, who entered the tomb, followed slowly by John.
As they departed, Mary reappeared; leaning her head upon
her arm at the tomb, she wept. Turning herself, she saw Jesus standing, so did 1. 1 knew it was He. She knelt before Him, with arms outstretched and looking into His face cried, Rabboni!
I awakened in sunlight, gripping the Bible, with muscles tense and nerves vibrating.
Under the inspiration of this vision I wrote as quickly as the words could be formed the poem exactly as it has since appeared. That same evening I wrote the music. (tanbible.com)