The Angel of Gethsemane

’TWAS midnight, and the Man of Sorrows took His chosen three,
And sought with weary step the shelter of Gethsemane
To pray, His soul exceeding sorrowful, e’en unto death,
And heavy laden with the sin and woe of all the world.
In agony of bloody sweat He fell upon His face,
And cried, with tears, "My God, My Father, if it be Thy will,
Oh, let this cup of shame and numbering with transgressors pass,—
If it be possible! Yet not My will, but Thine be done!"
And then His thoughts turned to the sacrifice,—a fear bore down
With agonizing weight upon His heart, lest to comply
With every jot and tittle of the Law, He might have failed!
He saw the priestly type, He knew eternal death awaited,
Should He seek to pass the second veil unworthily.
Eternal death! Oh, anguish inexpressible, to see
***
Dear Lord, oh, use me as the Angel in Gethsemane!
Oh, fill me with Thy Holy Spirit of Divinest love!
Oh, make me sympathetic, wise, that every anguished heart
May come, nor seek in vain for consolation from Thy Word,
And strengthened, comforted, go forth to prison or to death,
To suffer patiently the cruel mockings of the tongue;
To bear the cross unto the bitter end, then calmly say,
"Tis finished," and with faith unwavering pass beneath "the veil!

Poems of Dawn