It is the end of the summer, and the Prayer Garden is getting jungle-like, purposely a little overgrown. It is wonderful how well-planned this place is — there is always something beautiful to be seen here, no matter what the season.
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 discloses
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 tarry there
None other has ever known.
“In the Garden” — lyrics by C. Austin Miles (1868 – 1946)