W. Garrett Horder, comp. The Poets’ Bible: New Testament. 1895.
Gethsemane
Joseph Anstice (18081836)N
Nor when the tempting fiend was nigh;
Nor when that bitter cup was pour’d,
Thy garden agony:—
Nor then, when uttermost Thy need,
Seem’d light across Thy soul to break,
No seraph form was seen to speed,
No voice of comfort spake;
Till, by thine own revealed word,
The victory o’er the fiend was won;
Till the sweet mournful cry was heard,
“Thy will, not Mine, be done!”
And food, and peace, and joy, convey’d;
Then one, more favour’d than the rest,
Glanc’d to the olive shade.
Lord! bring those precious moments back,
When fainting, against sin we strain;
Or in thy counsels fail to track
Aught but the present pain!
In darkness help us to contend;
In darkness, yield to Thee our will;
And true hearts, faithful to the end,
Cheer by Thine Angels still!