Poem October 12, 1981 Issue

In the garden

PEARL STRACHAN HURD

Who can tell
what grief or agony
his sacrifice assumed?
The echo of that cry
in the garden, that last lone plea
for understanding from all,
including me,
haunts all our sphere.
What can we hope to redeem?
Can we again esteem
our feeble gestures,
hands joined in prayer?
There will be no turning
our gaze away from where
his cry tore the world apart.
Only his resurrection,
forecasting our own ascending thought,
brings hope of redemption
and helps us
to atone
triumphantly.