p. 1 | GETHSEMANE by A. T. Gorham

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, Cal. · Feb 9, 1882

GETHSEMANE.

By A. T. Gorham

O GARDEN fraught with direst woes, Where erst the suffering Saviour prayed, Thy gloomy haunts my spirit knows, My soul hath bowed beneath thy shade; And life indeed has proved to me A starless, sad, Gethsemane.

I wrote love's name upon the sand, Where Time's dark, curling waves go by; The breakers foamed along the strand— I saw the symbols fade and die. My hopes had floated out to sea, My heart found its Gethsemane.

I stood amid the passing crowd With head erect and haughty air; Alas! the hapless soul endowed With plenty, pride, and naught of care! When fortune, friends, and favor flee, How dear is life's Gethsemane!

The seasons sped. A sunbeam strayed By chance athwart my cheerless way; My soul was lifted from the shade— The night of years dethroned by day: As dreams of yore perchance will flee, Naught leaving but Gethsemane.

Naught, quoth I? Ay, there is a hope Still reaching that within the veil: It buoys the fainting spirit up When sorrows swell, and foes assail. That blessed hope still beams for me, A beacon in Gethsemane.

I hear the Master's thrilling voice— He stretches forth his bleeding hands, And cries, "In me, oh, child, rejoice!" I yield me to his great commands; And as my day my strength shall be, Till Heaven illumes Gethsemane.

—A. T. Gorham, in World's Crisis.