Gethsemane, garden of remembrance, the point at which our
Salvation hung as a millstone around thy neck.
Brave defender, oh blessed redeemer,
In whose hands our fate rests as yet,
How may we understand that perfect love?
Golgotha, the place of the skull, looming in the foreground,
Oh mighty sorrow as pain of love,
When looking to the heavens above,
You spoke the words that change our fate,
Father, not my will, but thy will be done.
Read more … Thy Will Be Done by M.G. Ellison.
