Gethsemane (1)

Hell has gone forth in power.

And ye should watch and weep:

Could ye not watch one little hour!

This night is not for sleep.

Earth trembles in the scale,

Yet knows not of the fight,

And if her fearful foe prevail,

It will be always night.

Unpitying as the grave,

Fierce as the winter breeze,

And mightier than the mountain wave

That sweeps o'er midnight seas.

The Prince of Darkness came:

Woe to the hated race!

What man can meet that brow of flame,

Or live before that face!

No seraph's sword of light,

Reddened in righteous wrath,

Flashed downward from the crystal height

To bar his onward path.

No trumpet's warning cry

Rose through the silent air,

No battle shout went forth on high

From guardian squadrons there.

Above, the holy light

Slept on the mountain's breast;

Beneath, the tender breath of night

Hushed moaning woods to rest.

Yet ne'er shall blackest night

Such deepened horror know,

While stars look down on Olives height,

Or Kedron's waters flow.

For who shall tell His woes,

Whose grief out-gloomed the night,

When His strong love, bright star I arose,

O'erfilling heaven with light?

The gentlest heart on earth

Must taste her sharpest woe,

The tender plant of heavenly birth

Hell's fiercest blast must know.

unknown | Jan 1969
Gethsemane

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