Poem written by Elder J.A. Rowell, Sr.
The night was dark, the moonlight dim,
Beneath the olive tree,
Christ, who was born in Bethlehem,
Had reached Gethsemane.
Gethsemane, where Jesus knelt,
Upon the ground and prayed,
For us the agony he felt,
On him our guilt was laid.
Gethsemane, the dismal place,
Christ drank the bitter cup,
For us his Father hid his face,
As he was offered up.
No one to plead the Saviour's cause,
He suffered there alone,
For man who broke God's holy laws,
And thus man must atone.
Oh, can there be no other way,
This purpose to fulfill,
Unfaltering, hear the Saviour say,
I came to do thy will.
Gethsemane, that garden prayer,
Where Jesus sweat as blood,
Inspire the saints, their hearts prepare,
To do thy will, Oh God.