Gethsemane

Your human nature gripped by fear

Though union’d with Divinity

You grasp at root, at dust, at stone

Lor Jesus, on Your knees, alone.

 

The night so still, an eerie glow

interrupts shadows cast by the moon

No wind to sift through leaves below

Stark silence since the upper room.

 

As moments pass, chest heaves in pain

You see the wrong that I will do

Yet endure gladly for my stain

To draw my heart nearer to You.

 

Allow me, Lord, to come and help

You get up off Your knees

To wipe the blood-sweat off Your face

Your agony appease.

 

Not e’en one hour I wait with You

Now on Your knees again

I drift to sleep whilst You pour out 

Your heartfelt plea for men.

 

Though spirit willing, flesh is weak

And my will, weaker still

You make me know it’s You I seek

that You alone fulfil

 

The night wears on and You, O Lord,

begin to tire from grief

Tormented by our hardened hearts

our sins, our unbelief.

 

I would not dare to interfere

with Your foretold redemptive act

But let me walk the way with You

At least in prayer if not in fact.

 

Now others to the garden come

Your victory will soon be won.

You freely choose the bitter cup

To torture and death You give Yourself up

 

Taken by thugs, betrayed by a friend

Your death: our bond with Father, mend.