Seventh Week

A garden is an awful responsibility. You never know what you may be
aiding to grow in it. I heard a sermon, not long ago, in which the
preacher said that the Christian, at the moment of his becoming one, was as
perfect a Christian as he would be if he grew to be an arch-
angel; that is, that he would not change thereafter at all, but only
develop. I do not know whether this is good theology, or not; and I
hesitate to support it by an illustration from my garden, especially
as I do not want to run the risk of propagating error, and I do not
care to give away these theological comparisons to clergymen who make
me so little return in the way of labor. But I find, in dissecting a
pea-blossom, that hidden in the center of it is a perfect miniature pea-pod,
with the peas all in it,--as perfect a pea-pod as it will ever be, only it is
as tiny as a chatelaine ornament. Maize and some other things show the same
precocity. This confirmation of the theologc theory is startling, and sets me
meditating upon the moral possibilities of my garden. I may find in it yet the
cosmic egg.
And, speaking of moral things, I am half determined to petition the Ecumenical Council to issue a bull of excommunication against
"pusley." Of all the forms which " error " has taken in this world, I think that is about the worst. In the Middle Ages the monks in St. Bernard's ascetic community at Clairva

About Robert Frost

One of America's most celebrated poets, known for his realistic depictions of rural life and mastery of American colloquial speech.

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