Gethsemane

Here is the riddle of eternity,
And here the mighty conflict of the ages:
Shall God contend with God in unity
With God’s own will? How fierce a war he wages!

What hellish sorrows fling him rudely down,
And wring the bloody sweat from every pore,
Which glistens on his brow, a crimson crown
Forged in God’s fire, of fleshy human ore!

Behold him shudder at the thorny path,
And groan at the divine eternal plan:
Ah, shall my God drink down my God’s own wrath,
And reel and stagger like a drunken man?

Mark how the bitter precious springs well up,
Full fountain-orbs that flow in speechless grief,
As from my hands he takes the bitter cup,
And steals away my sin, ah, blessed Thief!

Oh, matchless wonder, that it should be so!
Shall boundless God in stricken Man be bound,
Humility’s heel crush the world’s proud Foe,
And mercy free in cruel wrath be found?