W. Garrett Horder, comp. The Poets’ Bible: New Testament. 1895.
GethsemaneW. B. Flower (18191868)
The lamps of Heaven are dim,
And gentle Kedron fears to rill
Its wonted evening Hymn,
Nor woo the winds the sleeping flower,
Lest they should break the stillness of the hour.
Floats on the midnight air,
As moan of One that ere He dies
Would soothe His Soul in prayer?
Such wails of bitter Agony
Are those that come from out Gethsemane.
Bereft of human aid,
By one deemed true in rimes gone by
Ere long to be betrayed:
Haply His bitter Cup may pass away.
Stream down His sacred Brow:
He prays—O F
Submissive I would bow;
Let this Cup pass; oh, hear Thy Son;
And yet, not Will of Mine, but Thine be done.
Of death was nigh at hand;
And yon armed soldiery,
A rude and ruthless band,
Led from that place, and crucified;
Jesus the Guiltless for the guilty died.
The wily Tempter’s power,
Steal from the world a time, and share
The sorrows of that hour;
Bethink thee of Gethsemane;
Remember there thy Saviour died for thee.