Each heart has had its own Gethsemane,
Where agony and gloom and darkness be;
Its Pilate Hall, where justice seemed denied;
Its Calvary Hill, where self was crucified;
Its tomb, where that we deemed most precious had been laid
In winding-sheet of memories which made
The dead hope seem a thing of death the more,
And a great stone was rolled against the door.
But lo, the Angel of His Presence whispers, "Rise,
Put on thy beauteous garments. See, the skies
Are heralding the dawning of the day,
And night with pain and sorrow flees away."
O wondrous Light! O Resurrection Morn!
In joy and gladness Hope again is born.
Truth rolls the stone away. O wondrous thing!
The tomb a palace is, and Love is King!
