p. 2 | GETHSEMANE by Kathleen G. Cleary

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Dec 15, 1898

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 24, No. 50.

GETHSEMANE

By Kathleen G. Cleary

GETHSEMANE! Gethsemane! Thine olive boughs are fair! And high thy palm tree branches rise To catch the scented air, And radiant are the suns that shine Upon thy wall and vine, But dark and lone, Gethsemane, This night, the woe that's thine.

For, ah! who kneels at this dim hour Upon the dew-cold earth, In burning lips that burst in prayer, Pouring His spirit forth? Ah! who is He whose clasped hands Are raised in prayer divine, And whose cry that in anguish deep? Redeemer, it is Thine.

Yes, there Thou art, and e'er shalt be, The Holy, the Adored The worshiped One of heaven and earth, Our Saviour and our Lord, The Pure, the Sinless, the Unstained, Who now against Him hurled Finds all the sins of ages past, The miseries of a world,

As, kneeling there upon the earth, He lifts His fervent brow, While all that was or e'er shall be Comes to His spirit now, Deep, deep the pangs that wring His heart With anguish and with fears, Weeping in His sore bitterness, His blood, instead of tears.

Gethsemane, Gethsemane, Forever thou'lt be claimed, Not for thy groves of olives fair That erstwhile made thee famed, Nor for the scented air that fans Thy bowers of shaded green, But for that prayer, Gethsemane, And agonizing scene. —Kathleen G. Cleary.