In the garden

Who can tellwhat grief or agonyhis sacrifice assumed?The echo of that cryin the garden, that last lone pleafor understanding from all,including me,haunts all our sphere.What can we hope to redeem?Can we again esteemour feeble gestures,hands joined in prayer?There will be no turningour gaze away from wherehis cry tore the world apart.Only his resurrection,forecasting our own ascending thought,brings hope of redemptionand helps usto atonetriumphantly.

PEARL STRACHAN HURD

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Commuting the self-sentence
October 12, 1981
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