The Gardener

    “The Gardener,” Ensign, June 1989, inside front cover

    The Gardener

    I wept.

    At the mention of my name, I knew him.

    With a touch of tender mercy,

    Had not these hands healed me?

    In my despair and my infirmity,

    Had he not come?

    What worth was I?

    What worth was I

    That he should say,

    Mary, be thou healed?

    And yet he had known me

    As though I had been molded

    By these very hands.

    He had known me,

    And when he touched my head

    He healed not only my body

    But my heart.