I walked
alone one night in the garden,
All
nature sang forth God’s praise;
I thought
then upon the blessings I’ve known,
And
the land of endless days.
I sought
nothing there, I was just walking,
Walking
and thinking of Home;
Thinking
of the great Homecoming up there,
In
the Land where we’ll ne’er roam.
Then,
of a sudden, the atmosphere changed
As
a silence filled the air;
It is
difficult to put into words,
But
something special was there.
All around
were the long rows of olives,
And
here and there cedar trees,
Lovely
fountains fed by the Kedron brook
So
peaceful, there in the breeze.
Finely
carved stone steps on the valley side
From
the Garden leading down;
The
moon brightly shining over my head,
I
could see, but hear no sound,
The moon
rose over where I was sitting,
Deep
shadows by it were thrown;
When
I spied some men towards me walking,
Their
purpose to me unknown.
One voice
stood out as harsher and louder
Than
that of the other men,
They
spoke of something important, I know,
But
“what” was still unclear then.
They
reached then the bridge across the Kedron,
Then
to the wide stone stairway
That
leads to the middle of the Garden,
Then
they all passed through the gate.
One of
the men was clearly the leader,
His
garments were all of white;
His
eyes looked heavenward, up to the moon,
O!
What a beautiful sight!
On a
bench neath the largest olive tree
The
Stranger then took a seat;
The
multitude with him sat here and there
All
close to the Stranger’s feet.
Three
men came and stood around the Stranger
They
were Peter, James and John;
The
four of them turned and passed round the tree
And
from the rest traveled on.
I heard
the Stranger’s voice say to the three,
“Tarry
here, I go to pray.”
They
sat on the bench as He commanded,
Wearied
from a long, hard day.
Shortly
the three fell into a deep sleep,
Their
flesh had simply grown weak,
They
tried, but they failed to tarry awake
Despite
the words He did speak.
The Stranger’s
dark hair and beard, as he walked
Stood
out in the bright moonlight;
The
scene was most strange as He walked alone
And
a chill passed through the night.
I saw
Him as He passed through the corner
Of
this dark Gethsemane,
He stopped
and knelt, and to Heav’n raised His hands:
And
this was his fervent plea:
“Heavenly
Father, let this cup now pass
From
me, if it pleases Thee,
Nevertheless,
let Thy will be done,
Whatever
it brings to me…”
I feared
lest the Stranger should discover
Me
as I watched this strange scene;
Yet
it is as though I’m not there at all,
Oh,
what could all of this mean?
Then,
it seemed a long time of silence passed,
I
heard His sorrowful sighs,
He then
came back to the arbor and saw
His
disciples’ sleep-filled eyes.
He placed
His hand upon one sleeping head,
And
said, “How can you now sleep?”
His
heart was broken to find them this way,
All
three of them lay asleep.
“Awake,
lest now ye be overtaken
And
into temptation fall…”
How
little they knew what was taking place:
He
soon would die for them all…
They
seemed ashamed at His words of rebuke,
Yet
nothing could any say;
The
Stranger departed alone once more
And
dropped to His knees to pray.
The place
was so still that the distant brook
Trickled
clearly in my ear,
And
the rustling leaves of the Valley
So
easily I could hear.
Then
a flash of light caught my attention,
I
turned and looked to the gate;
A multitude
was coming toward me –
But
why? The hour was late.
They
carried torches and lanterns and lamps,
And
hurried upon their way;
They
descended the valley, crossed the bridge,
They
approached without delay.
I hurriedly
pressed toward the entrance,
But
the Stranger went before;
I heard
Him unto the multitude say:
“Who
is it that you look for?”
More
words were passed, but I made them not out,
And
then did the Stranger speak:
“My
name? It is Jesus, of Nazareth,
Now,
tell me: Whom do you seek?”
One man
made his way through the surging mob,
In
a dark robe he was dressed;
Then
the man took his place by the Stranger
And
to his neck his lips pressed.
The crowd
pressed forward and surrounded Him,
From
the place led Him away;
Urgently
they forced Him to go with them
But
to where… I could not say.
I followed
the multitude from behind
Across
the valley below;
Up the
steep mountain and back to the wall…
The
rest of the tale, you know.
As out
through the gate the Stranger is led,
He
turned, the Garden to see;
In His
eyes I saw love, mercy and grace,
I
knew the Stranger loved me.
The sounds
of the mob faded from my ears,
As
I pondered what I saw;
Then
I understood who the Stranger was:
And
it filled my heart with awe.
I had
seen the betrayal of the One
Who
would die to set me free;
I had
witnessed the breaking of His heart –
In
lonely Gethsemane.
……….H. L. Gradowith……….
09-11-2001
NOTE: This work was based in part on the Biblical accounts of the events of Gethsemane and in part on a narrative by Russell Conwell in his book "Six Nights in the Garden of Gethsemane" (Fleming H. Revell Company, 1924). It is, of course, not a literal and historical account of any visit I made to the Garden, but with the greatest poetic liberty it is merely a poem… Tim Smith