GETHSEMANE

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Sep 13, 1877

Wan were the dew-drops on olive and lily, Dark was the garden, and damp was the stone, Where through the midnight, slow-passing and chilly, Jesus in sorrow kept vigil alone. Echoed the rocks to the cry of his anguish, Cold to the ground fell the sweat of his pain. How could they leave him, so burdened, to languish, Those whom he loved, and who loved him again?

Little it seemed, but an hour, to awaken— Waken and wait, while the Master in prayer, Desolate, agonized, well-nigh forsaken, Sought of his Father for help from despair. First, when they slumbered, he tenderly begged them, Gently reproachful, to watch and to pray; Now, as if cut to the heart to behold them Sleeping anew, he turns sadly away.

Oft as we ponder Gethsemane’s story, Oft as we think of our Master alone, Come to our spirit the gloom and the glory, All intermingled, of garden and throne. E’en in his heart-break, the best and the dearest Failed him; but we, in our midnight of need, Ever shall find him the swiftest and nearest, He, the unsleeping, our soul-cry will heed.

—Harper’s Bazar.