Gethsemane. WHERE climbs thy steep, fair Olivet, I love in thought to linger there, 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, Vain dream! No grief shall evermore The seraphim surround thee now. Yet, Lord, from off the burning throne, 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- On his pale brow the drops are large and red His hands are clasped, his eyes are raised in prayer. Who calmed the tempest, and who raised the dead? THE AGONY. The cup of vengeance I must drink to-day- Was mighty to endure, and strong to save ; Anonymous. 151 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, Saw the sick healed, the dead restored, All fled? Yet one there was who laid A cherished, an illustrious guest; And strangely sealed her gaping grave,— |