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Rudyard Kipling (1865–1936). Verse: 1885–1918. 1922.

Gethsemane

THE GARDEN called Gethsemane

In Picardy it was,

And there the people came to see

The English soldiers pass.

We used to pass—we used to pass

Or halt, as it might be,

And ship our masks in case of gas

Beyond Gethsemane.

The Garden called Gethsemane,

It held a pretty lass,

But all the time she talked to me

I prayed my cup might pass.

The officer sat on the chair,

The men lay on the grass,

And all the time we halted there

I prayed my cup might pass.

It didn’t pass—it didn’t pass—

It didn’t pass from me.

I drank it when we met the gas

Beyond Gethsemane.