p. 1 | A VISION OF GETHSEMANE by Fred T. Elkin

Pacific Press Publishing Company · OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA · Oct 18, 1899

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 25, No. 42.

"A VISION OF GETHSEMANE."

By Fred T. Elkin

THE ragged clouds stretch to the sunken light Like wrinkles on the careworn brow of night— O night of grand regret! A hiding moon, that vain would shun the scene, But faintly silvers the dark mass of green That mantles Olivet.

I see Him, bent beside yon olive grove, Convulsed with anguish of an outraged love, Prepay the bitter price. I see a godly impulse pent in flesh; I see a winnowed heart bleed in the thresh, Thrice pured for sacrifice.

"Father, I pray, remove this cup from Me." His face glows with a pulsing agony, The very chart of pain. The nervous arms are tossed and gesture-driven; His eyes concentrate all the sweep of heaven, But probe the depths in vain.

As Intercession's self behold Him plead; The magnitude of wayward Israel's need Appals and shrinks His soul. And wanton shames and vile opprobrium hurl'd At Him whose thoughts would nurse an ailing world, Before His mind unroll.

But yesterday He rode in palm-strewn state, "Hosanna"—greeted, through the city gate; Through the same gate must He To-morrow bear His cross, already built, And damning evidence of human guilt Shall shame eternity.

"Nevertheless, Thy will be done—not Mine." His mind compels to peace with force divine, A force that oozes blood. The tidal torment trembles in a curb That death on death can never more disturb. His Father's will stands good.

Some vague Bethesda, latent in the frame, Wells from His core to quench the fever's flame— Christ is Himself again, Save that from ebbing catches in His throat Majestic sadness thrills an aching note, Suffusing this refrain:

"But ye would not—would not, Jerusalem, Jerusalem that ever stoneth them Sent to relieve her lot; How often, as the hen doth shield her brood, Would I have sheltered you from guilt and blood, And ye would not—would not!"

He moves; I hear His voice, forlornly deep, Steal sweet refreshment from the fisher's sleep— "Could ye not watch awhile?" Then pity merged in thoughts of self doth speak: "The mind is willing, but the flesh is weak"— And soothes them with a smile.

I see, I hear the covert-skirting throng, Jeering to nerve their courage to the wrong. I see the kiss betray. Judas, the worms already writhe for thee, And hell, disdaining such foul infamy, Thine entrance shall gainsay.

The ages pass, and on this sacred sod, The Moslem shapes his earth-born soul to God, Through channels strange and weird; And, musing on the Christ with thoughts unkind, In the proud weakness of a mortal mind, He laugheth in his beard.

Yet "God is love;" round love's essential force His multitude of attributes take course, Yet secondary move; And, faithful to His plighted Word of old, His "other sheep" shall gather to the fold, Safe-shepherded by Love.

O Light of Ages! pain and passion born, Thy gleam shall quicken earth towards the dawn, And fear from death shall sever;

He moves; I hear His voice, forlornly deep, Steal sweet refreshment from the fisher's sleep— “Could ye not watch awhile?”

For, from the anguish of frail nature's throes, Poor human love to God's grand peerage rose, Quelling His wrath forever.

Boulder, Colo. FRED T. ELKIN.