The sullen sky leans close about the somber earth, And weird, black shapes of gnarled olive trees in line Look strange, grotesque, against the pallid light That falls upon the kneeling form of the One Divine. The scene is laid: Behold a battle-ground, A grim and fearful hour, the blackest day of days, When Jesus in the garden agonized: “O Father, save me from this hour, I pray.” And but a stone’s cast distance, there my eyes discern Three huddled forms upon the ground, asleep. “Why do ye slumber now, while Satan’s fury flings Its vengeance, like tempestuous billows of the deep?” Shall yet the might Prince of Darkness overcome While human flesh is weak and sorely frail? Rejoice, my soul, for Jesus fought the fight, The victory is won, divine love cannot fail!

ELSIE D. KUIZEMA