The Garden Of Gethsemane Poem by Lucretia Maria Davidson

Gethsemane! there's holy blood
Upon thy green and waving brow;
Gethsemane! a God hath stood,
And o'er thy branches bended low!

There, drops of agony have hung
Mingled with blood upon his brow;
For sin his bosom there was wrung,
And there it bled for human woe.

There, in the darkest hour of night,
Alone he watched, alone he prayed;
Didst thou not tremble at the sight?
A God reviled! — a God betrayed!

Gethsemane! so dark a scene
Ne'er blotted the wide book of time!
Oblivion's veil can never screen
So dark a deed, so black a crime!