 | Lyrics |  |
134
A GETHSEMANE MARIGOLD.
A bee crept round my sun-like marigoldAnd sucked the nectar from that Eastern bloom,
Whose shining ancestry did once illume
The sacred olive-garden—where of old
Dark clouds of sorrow o'er the Saviour rolled.
How strange this honied brightness to that gloom,
That awful shadow of the Cross and tomb,
That cup of gall and bitterness untold.
O Lord of love, blest Oriental Flower,
Casting a gleam on this far western isle,
Fain would I seek Thy face from hour to hour,
To taste Thy sweetness and to feel Thy smile,—
My comfort here, and Plant of rare renown,
My glory yonder, and my golden crown.
| Lyrics | |