Scene In Gethsemane.

The moon was shining yet. The Orient's brow,     Set with the morning star, was not yet dim;     And the deep silence which subdues the breath     Like a strong feeling, hung upon the world     As sleep upon the pulses of a child.     'Twas the last watch of night. Gethsemane,     With its bath'd leaves of silver, seem'd dissolv'd     In visible stillness, and as Jesus' voice     With its bewildering sweetness met the ear     Of his disciples, it vibrated on     Like the first whisper in a silent world.     They came on slowly. Heaviness oppress'd     The Saviour's heart, and when the kindnesses     Of his deep love were pour'd, he felt the need     Of near communion, for his gift of strength     Was wasted by the spirit's weariness.     He left them there, and went a little on,     And in the depth of that hush'd silentness,     Alone with God, he fell upon his face,     And as his heart was broken with the rush     Of his surpassing agony, and death,     Wrung to him from a dying universe,     Were mightier than the Son of man could bear,     He gave his sorrows way, and in the deep     Prostration of his soul, breathed out the prayer,     "Father, if it be possible with thee,     Let this cup pass from me." Oh, how a word,     Like the forc'd drop before the fountain breaks,     Stilleth the press of human agony!     The Saviour felt its quiet in his soul;     And though his strength was weakness, and the light     Which led him on till now was sorely dim,     He breathed a new submission - "Not my will,     But thine be done, oh Father!" As he spoke,     Voices were heard in heaven, and music stole     Out from the chambers of the vaulted sky,     As if the stars were swept like instruments.     No cloud was visible, but radiant wings     Were coming with a silvery rush to earth,     And as the Saviour rose, a glorious one,     With an illumin'd forehead, and the light     Whose fountain is the mystery of God     Encalm'd within his eye, bow'd down to him,     And nerv'd him with a ministry of strength.     It was enough - and with his godlike brow     Re-written, of his Father's messenger,     With meekness, whose divinity is more     Than power and glory, he return'd again     To his disciples, and awak'd their sleep,     For "he that should betray him was at hand."