Life is like a garden, and working it is toil,
It takes a lot of patience to cultivate the soil.
We break our backs to hoe it, pull out the rocks and weeds
Just for a decent plot of land where we can plant our seeds.
By plague and pest and drought, we often are defeated,
And all our labor seems in vain and has to be repeated.
When harvest comes in bountiful it gives the soul a rest
It's the failures in our gardens that put us to the test.
We seem to think that labor should always bring reward
For the pain in our backs, the calloused hands and the fact that it is hard!
There's no rest in an earthly garden, and toil on this earth we must
Until one day we are planted here, returning dust to dust.
Your soul is the seed that is planted, and if you are in the Lord
Then you'll grow in a heavenly garden and be watered by His word
In Heaven's beautiful garden, we'll have perfect rest and peace,
And sorrows and labors we have right now, finally will cease.