 | Memoralia |  |
PRAYER IN THE GARDEN.
Alaster,(at the grave of his child.)
What said Christ, when he grew fonder
For the Sunny Isles of Day?
“Sit ye here, while I go yonder
In the Garden there to pray.”
Then his fond Disciples, weary,
Waiting for their Lord so nigh—
Fell asleep, at midnight dreary,
On the ground where they did lie—
Hearing not his “Eloi!
Lama sabacthani!”
For the Sunny Isles of Day?
“Sit ye here, while I go yonder
In the Garden there to pray.”
Then his fond Disciples, weary,
Waiting for their Lord so nigh—
Fell asleep, at midnight dreary,
On the ground where they did lie—
Hearing not his “Eloi!
Lama sabacthani!”
As he prayed within the Garden—
Garden of Gethsemane—
So I pray to God for pardon—
“Father! pass this cup from me!”
For it is too bitter—bitter—
Though I thirst—am more than dry!
Is not Death far better—fitter—
Than the death that I now die?
Answer, Saviour! “Eloi!
Lama sabachthani!”
Garden of Gethsemane—
So I pray to God for pardon—
“Father! pass this cup from me!”
For it is too bitter—bitter—
Though I thirst—am more than dry!
Is not Death far better—fitter—
Than the death that I now die?
Answer, Saviour! “Eloi!
Lama sabachthani!”
As the bloody sweat of anguish
Oozed from out his pearly brow,
While his troubled soul did languish,
Trampled down by bitter woe;
So, from out my wounded spirit,
Bleeding now with agony,
Flow such drops, (I cannot bear it!)
And must staunch them, or must die—
Crying likewise, “Eloi!
Lama sabachthani!”
Oozed from out his pearly brow,
While his troubled soul did languish,
Trampled down by bitter woe;
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Bleeding now with agony,
Flow such drops, (I cannot bear it!)
And must staunch them, or must die—
Crying likewise, “Eloi!
Lama sabachthani!”
As his heart was torn assunder—
Sighing out his soul in pain—
When the Earthquake of the Thunder
Rent the Mountain Rock in twain;
So my soul, forever wounded—
Trampled down from Heaven on high—
By God's love feels still surrounded,
And has hopes that cannot die—
Though I cry out, “Eloi!
Lama sabachthani!”
Sighing out his soul in pain—
When the Earthquake of the Thunder
Rent the Mountain Rock in twain;
So my soul, forever wounded—
Trampled down from Heaven on high—
By God's love feels still surrounded,
And has hopes that cannot die—
Though I cry out, “Eloi!
Lama sabachthani!”
As he bowed his soul in meekness
On the Cross, when crucified;
While the blood, that caused his weakness,
Flowed from out his wounded side;
Crying out, in his affliction,
“It IS FINISHED!” as he died!
I now suffer crucifixion—
Crying out as he then cried—
Suffering torture—“Eloi!
Lama sabachthani!”
On the Cross, when crucified;
While the blood, that caused his weakness,
Flowed from out his wounded side;
Crying out, in his affliction,
“It IS FINISHED!” as he died!
I now suffer crucifixion—
Crying out as he then cried—
Suffering torture—“Eloi!
Lama sabachthani!”
Then, oh! Lord! redeem my precious,
Darling little Florence dear;
And to me be one time gracious—
Sorrowing now as I do here!
Yes, my God! my troubled spirit
Unto Thee doth loudly cry;
So that Thou in Heaven canst hear it—
Save her, Lord! or I must die!
Save her, Father! “Eloi!
Lama sabachthani!”
Darling little Florence dear;
And to me be one time gracious—
Sorrowing now as I do here!
Yes, my God! my troubled spirit
Unto Thee doth loudly cry;
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Save her, Lord! or I must die!
Save her, Father! “Eloi!
Lama sabachthani!”
A Chorus of Ministering Angels
appear to the Father, comforting him with the following Song:—
Angels' Song.
That from her high Home in glory
Thou wouldst have her here to grieve
In this world, where thou art sorry—
None of us in Heaven believe.
What hast thou, but tribulation?
Wouldst thou turn her joys to pain?
Once in Heaven from thy probation—
Who would live on earth again?
Thou wouldst have her here to grieve
In this world, where thou art sorry—
None of us in Heaven believe.
What hast thou, but tribulation?
Wouldst thou turn her joys to pain?
Once in Heaven from thy probation—
Who would live on earth again?
Here with us, it is all pleasure—
Known but to the Saints above—
Bliss divine beyond all measure—
Just because our “God IS LOVE.”
Then rejoice, oh! Swan of Sorrow!
Pæans from thy deep heart pour!
Come to us in Heaven to-morrow,
And thy soul shall weep no more.
Known but to the Saints above—
Bliss divine beyond all measure—
Just because our “God IS LOVE.”
Then rejoice, oh! Swan of Sorrow!
Pæans from thy deep heart pour!
Come to us in Heaven to-morrow,
And thy soul shall weep no more.
Alaster,
(falling into a trance.)
“Eloi!—Eloi!”—
Angels.
He cries no more “Lama sabachthani!”
We have entranced him so that he must die!
Oh! that his soul was now in Heaven on high
Drinking delight from his own purity.
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(in a low, but distinct voice.)
“Eloi!—Eloi!”—
Angels.
Ah! sad soul! be not mistaken,
That our Lord, when called to die,
Was by his own Soul forsaken—
It was only Mary's cry.
Alaster,
(in a low tone.)
“Eloi!—Eloi!”
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