  IN golden youth, when seems the earth A summer land of singing mirth, When souls are glad and hearts are light, And not a shadow lurks in sight, We do not know it, but there lies, Somewhere veiled under evening skies, A garden all must sometime see— The garden of Gethsemane. With joyous steps we go our ways; Love lends a halo to our days. Light sorrows sail like clouds afar, We laugh and say how strong we are! We hurry on, and, hurrying, go Close to the borderland of woe That waits for you, and waits for me, Forever waits—Gethsemane. Down shadowy lanes, across strange streams, Bridged over by our broken dreams, Behind the misty caps of years, Beyond the great salt fount of tears You cannot miss it in your way. All paths that have been or may be, Pass somewhere through Gethsemane. All those who journey, soon or late, Must pass within the garden’s gate; Must kneel alone in darkness there, And battle with some fierce despair. God pity those who cannot say “Not mine but Thine;” who only pray “Let this cup pass,” and cannot see The purpose in Gethsemane. |
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