Gethsemane

 Gethsemane K. L. Paxson

In dark Gethsemane,

He lay, grief-stricken and alone!
The softly, glowing Syrian night,
Looked calmly on.
Whilst He, the Lord of life and light,

Lay quivering there.
In awful agony of soul,
He, pleading, cries in anguished Prayer:
"Oh, Father, let this cup

Pass by Thy Son,
If so Thy holy will be done!"
Ah, no, not so could victory be won,
And Satan spoiled of death!
In bloody sweat, in tears,

He wrestled in the garden's gloom,
Assailed by deadly fears,
Alone, bereft of God.
Thou trod'st the pathway to the tomb,

And glorified for me
Its black, its awful gloom!
For Thee!
The riven heart, the cursed tree.
For me,

A path of light thru dark Gethsemane!