Gethsemane

The duress of sin - the weight of it
Falls in palpable shadows with
The Night. Pressing, Pressing,
Every deed forbidden and foregone
Adds to the scale of misery.
The sleeping men do not see
A Garden and a flaming sword -
The indignation and the wrath of God,
The countless streams of human tears
Distilled in drops of blood.
We cannot bear the load - the burden
Is too great...It beats, beats, beats
The soul to fitful slumber
Bringing all to dust and ashes.
But there lay One, God and the Image of God,
Wrestling with the darkness,
Heart sore travailed and every fiber strained
In dire anticipation
Of the greatest agony on earth.
In love He took the cup we could not wield-
O Bitter, Bitter Cup!-
And with the dregs of death he sate his thirst
For our salvation.
In humble might grasped He the brandished sword,
Wiped away the passion o'er his brow,
And rose to wake and warn his dreaming friends.