Gethsemane. John 18. 1, 2; Matt 26. 36
J. Hart 7s
Jesus, while he dwelt below,
As divine historians say,
To a place would often go;
Near to Kedron’s brook it lay;
In this place he loved to be,
And ’twas named Gethsemane.
[’Twas a garden, as we read,
At the foot of Olivet,
Low, and proper to be made
The Redeemer’s lone retreat;
When from noise he would be free,
Then he sought Gethsemane.
Thither, by their Master brought,
His disciples likewise came;
There the heavenly truths he taught
Often set their hearts on flame;
Therefore they, as well as he,
Here they oft conversing sat,
Or might join with Christ in prayer;
O what blest devotion’s that,
When the Lord himself is there!
All things to them seemed to agree
To endear Gethsemane.
Here no strangers durst intrude;
But the Prince of Peace could sit,
Cheered with sacred solitude,
Wrapped in contemplation sweet;
Yet how little they could see
Why he chose Gethsemane!
Full of love to man’s lost race,
On his conflict much he thought;
This he knew the destined place,
And he loved the sacred spot;
Therefore ’twas he liked to be
Often in Gethsemane.
They his followers, with the rest,
Had incurred the wrath divine;
And their Lord, with pity pressed,
Longed to bear their loads – and mine;
Love to them, and love to me,
Made him love Gethsemane.
Many woes had he endured,
Many sore temptations met,
Patient, and to pains inured;
But the sorest trial yet,
Was to be sustained in thee,
Gloomy, sad Gethsemane.
Came at length the dreadful night,
Vengeance, with its iron rod,
Stood, and with collected might
Bruised the harmless Lamb of God;
See, my soul, thy Saviour see,
Grovelling in Gethsemane.
View him in that olive press,
Squeezed and wrung till ’whelmed in blood,
View thy Maker’s deep distress!
Hear the sighs and groans of God!
Then reflect what sin must be,
Gazing on Gethsemane.
Poor disciples, tell me now,
Where’s the love ye lately had,
Where’s the faith ye all could vow?
But this hour is too, too sad!
’Tis not now for such as ye
To support Gethsemane.
O what wonders love has done!
But how little understood!
God well knows, and God alone,
What produced that sweat of blood;
Who can thy deep wonders see,
There my God bore all my guilt;
This through grace can be believed;
But the horrors which he felt,
Are too vast to be conceived.
None can penetrate through thee,
Doleful, dark Gethsemane.
Gloomy garden, on thy beds,
Washed by Kedron’s waters foul,
Grow most rank and bitter weeds;
Think on these, my sinful soul;
Wouldst thou sin’s dominion flee,
Call to mind Gethsemane.
Sinners vile like me, and lost,
If there’s one so vile as I,
Leave more righteous souls to boast:
Leave them, and to refuge fly;
We may well bless that decree
Which ordained Gethsemane.
We can hope no healing hand,
Leprous quite throughout with sin;
Loathed incurables we stand,
Crying out, “Unclean, unclean!”
Help there’s none for such as we,
But in dear Gethsemane.
Eden, from each flowery bed,
Did for man short sweetness breathe;
Soon, by Satan’s counsel led,
Man wrought sin, and sin wrought death;
But of life, the healing tree
Grows in rich Gethsemane.
Hither, Lord, thou didst resort,
Ofttimes with thy little train;
Here wouldst keep thy private court;
O confer that grace again;
Lord, resort with worthless me
Ofttimes to Gethsemane.
True, I can’t deserve to share
In a favour so divine;
But, since sin first fixed thee there,
None have greater sins than mine;
And to this my woeful plea,
Witness thou, Gethsemane.
Sins against a holy God;
Sins against his righteous laws;
Sins against his love, his blood;
Sins against his name, and cause;
Sins immense as is the sea –
Hide me, O Gethsemane!
Here’s my claim, and here alone;
None a Saviour more can need;
Deeds of righteousness I’ve none;
No, not one good work to plead;
Not a glimpse of hope for me,
Only in Gethsemane.]
Saviour, all the stone remove
From my flinty, frozen heart;
Thaw it with the beams of love,
Pierce it with the blood-dipped dart;
Wound the heart that wounded thee;
Melt it in Gethsemane.
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
One almighty God of love,
Hymned by all the heavenly host
In thy shining courts above;
We poor sinners, gracious THREE,
Bless thee for Gethsemane.