 | Sonnets by the Rev. Charles Turner [i.e. Charles Tennyson] |  |
91
GETHSEMANE.
Pursing his traitor lips he onward went,The Apostle; with those harsh official men—
All on one cruel baleful thought intent,
To hunt the Lamb up from His sheltering glen,
O cruel conclave! where those murderers met;
O vile night-market! where our Lord was sold
Among the sad gray olives, in His sweat,
Just risen from that awful prayer; behold!
They lead Him forth, the Victim long foretold
To climb, like Isaac, up the fated hill:
And so God wrought Redemption—fold in fold
With hate and guile He wrapt His holy will,
Yet left that will still holy—nor approved
The sin He worked with, nor its curse removed.
| Sonnets by the Rev. Charles Turner [i.e. Charles Tennyson] | |