I will go into dark Gethsemane,
In the night when none can see;
I will kneel by the side of Christ my Lord,
And He will kneel down with me.
I will bow my head, for I may not look
On that brow with its bloody dew,
Nor into those eyes of awful pain,
With the dread cross shining through.
Then my soul rose up, as a man will rise
Who hath high, stern words to speak,
And said, 'Now what wilt thou do by Him
With that sweat on brow and cheek?
'Canst thou drink from the cup he proffers thee?
Canst thou quaff it at a breath?
For the dregs are sorrow and scorn and shame,
The crown of thorns and death.
'Stand thou from afar, for thou canst not know
That hour in Gethsemane.
Thou canst only know, in thine own dim way,
That He strove that night for thee.'
So I stand afar, and I bow my head;
But I dare not look into those eyes,
Whose depths have the depths of the night around,
With the starlight in the skies.
And my soul, as a friend will talk to a friend,
Still whispers and speaks unto me,
'Thou canst only know in thine own dim way
That hour in Gethsemane.'