I know a place near Mount of Olives,
Secluded from the rushing world,
The Kidron murmurs in the valley,
The olive trees stretch out their boughs.
There you see naught of manmade clamour
But rolling hills, forest and sea,
And all around this quiet courtyard,
The garden of Gethsemane.
There lay the Holy One in prayer,
In dark of night upon His knees,
The promised child of faithful fathers,
Cried out to God despairingly.
A heart so full of fear and pleading
An anguished and forsaken soul.
And from His sacred, stricken forehead
Flowed heavy drops of crimson blood.
O Lord, you worked on my salvation
You feared for me in dark of night,
Alone, removed from all creation
You cared and prayed with all your might.
My thoughts are always near that courtyard
No matter where I go or stay’
I close my eyes and see the garden
That harboured God, Gethsemane.
No comments:
Post a Comment