Gethsemane

 

He sought a place to pray and found,
Upon a slope outside of town,
An olive garden filled with trees,
On which there stirred a restless breeze.

How sad His loved ones never guessed
The weight of anguish in His breast,
Nor heard His sighs, nor saw Him weep,
For watching not, they fell asleep.

Each one of us must bear his share
Of that lone hour's vigil there.
But with it promise of a dawn
Of blessed peace when night is gone.

Compared to Thine, dear Lord I see
How small my own Gethsemane.
 

~ Grace E. Easley