Gethsemane by Harry Armstrong

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Feb 24, 1903

Gethsemane

By Harry Armstrong

SUNLIGHT is fading, Dark powers are shading; The Man of sorrows Weepeth in deep anguish. Crushed with the world's despair, Bearing our load of care, Pleading with God in prayer— Father, help thy Child.

Father, from thy high throne, Come and protect thine own, Forsaken, sad, and lone, He longs thy face to see.

O dark Gethsemane, Give, give thy sympathy; Speak, speak, O speak to me, And tell his agony. Echo that voice divine, Pleading before thy shrine, Thy will, my God, not mine; Now thy will be done.

Father in heaven, draw near, Give me thy holy cheer; All human ties so dear, Know not Gethsemane.

O, thou Mount Calvary, Dark is thy mystery: Angels look down to see Depths of humility. Behold the cross draws nigh, On which the Lamb must die, As shouts of “Crucify” Pierce his wounded heart.

“My God,” he cries in pain, “Look on thine own again. Let not sin's crimson stain Hide thy face from me.”

Bright as the morning, Up ’bove earth's scorning, Jesus ascends—the King, Victor o'er death's cold sting. Heaven's gates are open wide; He enters glorified; Multitudes purified Now join the angel throng.

Now from his Father's throne, Jesus protects his own, And while my sins are known, He waiteth to forgive.

—Harry Armstrong.