I ponder the vista, of Gethsemane
In the cool, eventide, of the day
There a solit'ry, grief-stricken, figure, I see
As He kneels in the garden, to pray
He offers up prayers, with strong crying and tears
As his blood-sweat falls down to the ground
Yet throughout his deep agony, heartache and fears
Not one sheep from his flock, can be found
He'd charged his disciples, to watch and to pray
Whilst in anguish, He laboured and wept
But they miserably failed, to his utter dismay
For in sorrow, they slumbered and slept
What, could you not watch here, with me, for one hour?
His voice seems to whisper my name
Though willing in spirit, my flesh lacks the power
I concede, to my uttermost shame
Like Peter of old, a deep love, I profess
And desire, to do as He asks
Yet each day, If I'm honest, I have to confess
That I fail in the simplest of tasks
If you died today, are you absolutely certain that you would go to heaven? You can be! TRUST JESUS NOW
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