GETHSEMANE by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Sep 18, 1893

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 19, No. 45.

GETHSEMANE.

By Ella Wheeler Wilcox

In golden youth, when seems the earth A summer land for singing mirth, When souls are glad and hearts are light, And not a shadow lurks in sight, We do not know it, but there lies Somewhere, veiled under evening skies, A garden all must sometime see,— Somewhere lies our Gethsemane.

With joyous steps we go our ways; Love lends a halo to the days; Light sorrows pass like clouds afar; We laugh and say how strong we are; We hurry on, and, hurrying, go Close to the border land of woe That waits for you and waits for me— Forever waits Gethsemane.

Down shadowy lanes, across strange streams, Bridged over by our broken dreams, Behind the misty capes of years, Close to the great, salt fount of tears The garden lies; strive as you may You cannot miss it in your way; All paths that have been or shall be Pass somewhere through Gethsemane.

All those who journey, soon or late, Must pass within the garden's gate, Must kneel alone in darkness there, And battle with some fierce despair; God pity those who cannot say, "Not mine, but thine," who only pray, "Let this cup pass," and cannot see The purpose in Gethsemane. —Ella Wheeler Wilcox.