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Gethsemane.

WHERE climbs thy steep, fair Olivet,
There is a spot most dear to me—
The spot with tears of sorrow wet,
Where Jesus knelt in agony.

I love in thought to linger there,
To tread the hallowed ground ́alone,

Where on the silent, midnight air,

Rose heavenward, Lord, thy plaintive moan.

I fondly seek the olive shade

That vailed thee when thy soul was wrung When angels came to bring thee aid, That oft to thee their harps had strung!

There on the sacred turf I kneel,

And breathe my heart's deep love to thee, While tender memories o'er me steal

Of all thou didst endure for me.

GETHSEMANE.

O mystery of anguish, when

The sinless felt sin's heavy woe!

Hell madly dreamed of triumph then,
While thy dear head was bending low.

Vain dream! No grief shall evermore
Stain, as with bloody sweat, thy brow;
Robed in all glory-thine before-

The seraphim surround thee now.

Yet, Lord, from off the burning throne,
Above yon stars that softly gleam,
Thou cam'st to meet me here alone,
By Kedron's old familiar stream.

Ray Palmer.

149

The Agany.

He went away again the second time, and prayed, saying, "Oh, my father, i this cup may not pass away from me, except I drink it, thy will be done.”—Sr MATTHEW Xxvi. 42.

A WREATH of glory circles still his head-
And yet he kneels-and yet he seems to be
Convulsed with more than human agony:

On his pale brow the drops are large and red
As victim's blood on votive altar shed-

His hands are clasped, his eyes are raised in prayer.
Alas! and is there strife HE can not bear

Who calmed the tempest, and who raised the dead?
There is! there is! for now the powers of hell
Are struggling for the mastery-'tis the hour
When Death exerts his last permitted power-
When the dread weight of sin, since Adam fell,
Is visited on Him, who deigned to dwell,
A man with men-that he might bear the stroke
Of wrath Divine, and burst the captive's yoke.
But oh! of that dread strife what words can tell?
Those only those-which broke with many a groan
From his full heart-"O Father, take away

THE AGONY.

The cup of vengeance I must drink to-day-
Yet, Father, not my will, but thine be done!"
It could not pass away-for He alone

Was mighty to endure, and strong to save ;
Nor would Jehovah leave him in the grave,
Nor could corruption taint his Holy One.

Anonymous.

151

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The Defection of the Disciples.

Then all the disciples forsook him and fled.-Sr. MATTHEW xxvi. 56.

FLED!-and from whom? The Man of woe

Who in Gethsemane had felt

Such pangs as bade the blood-drops flow,
And the crushed heart with anguish melt?
They who were gathered round his board,
Partook his love, beheld his power,

Saw the sick healed, the dead restored,
Failed they to watch one fearful hour?

All fled? Yet one there was who laid
His head upon that sacred breast,
By friendship's holy ardor made

A cherished, an illustrious guest;
One, too, who walked with Christ the wave,
When the mad sea confessed his sway,

And strangely sealed her gaping grave,—
Fled these forgetfully away?

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