In the dark Gethsemane and sackcloth of thy soul,
Beneath the shadowed olive tree, thy face toward the goal,
Didst thou seek release in vain and, humbly trusting, pray?
Press to thy lips the cup of pain that would not pass away?
Waiting in thy Judgment-Hall thy life reviewed, arraigned,
While the wormwood and the gall its piteous pangs sustained,
Didst thou in thy Sorrows yearn for Morning's eastern skies,
Fondly to thy Christ Star turn thy mournful, tear-stained eyes?
Watching on thy Calvary, adoring at His feet,
What sacrifice hath come to thee to make thy life complete?
Receiving of its holy dust, within its saintly ground,
The triumph of thy lowly trust, was martyrdom so crowned?
In the sighs of mortal breath enshrouded in thy woe,
Hath thy heart some mortal death that Death alone can know?
Watch not in thy Life's array its sepulchre of gloom,
Thy Lord will roll the stone away from off its darkened tomb!
Doth His Easter radiance glow within thy life's full years
And with unturning hallowed flow, bring gladness to thy fears?
Hope that sought thee in thy pain with flowers thy brow adorns!
Today the roses bloom again where yesterday were thorns!