Gethsemane

AMY DOROTHEA DAVISON

His cup was bitter. Was not such a Son
Deserving of an easier path to tread?
A crown of glory and the words "Well done"
Were surely earned—a cross was there instead.
Yet, "Not my will," he prayed, "but thine, be done."
At dawn he rose, and error, vanquished, fled.

Is thy way dark? Have courage, faithful heart!
Fear not to taste the cup our Master drained.
The wine of inspiration will impart
A joy in serving Truth and Love, unfeigned.
Just pray, "Thy will be done," from self apart,
And thou wilt find thy footsteps well sustained.