The Master came to Gethsemane,
Where the trees were gnarled and dim.
The night pressed heavily around
And stones lay sharp upon the ground,
But strength and peace at last he found—
An angel talked with him.
The Master rose in a garden fair
'On that first Easter day.
Out from the angel-guarded tomb
He walked among the flowers in bloom,
Where all the powers of death made room
And shadows fled away.
So may our hearts' Gethsemane
Change to eternal victory.
