Just A Little Too High

It was peeping through the brambles, that little wild, white rose,
Where my hawthorne hedge was planted, my garden to enclose.
All beyond was fern and heather, on the breezy open moor,
All within was sun and shelter, and a wealth of beauty store.
Yet, I heeded not the fragrance of flower or tree,
For my eyes were on that wild rose, and it grew too high for me.
In vain I tried to reach, such a tangled mass of green,
But it only smiled and nodded, behind that thorny screen.
Yet in a summer's morning, I lingered near the spot--
Say, why do things seem sweeter if we possess them not?
My garden buds were blooming, but all that I could see
Was that little, mocking, wild white rose, that grew too high for me.
So in life's wider garden there buds a promise too,
Beyond our reach to gather, but not beyond our view.
And like that little charmer that tempted me astray,
They steal out half the sunny brightness of many a summer's day.
My sunbeams, and my shadows fall from a Pierced Hand,
I can surely trust His wisdom, since His heart I understand.
And maybe, in the morning, when His blessed face I see,
He'll tell me why my wild white rose grew
Just a little too high for me.