By Frederick Blanchard
I come alone into the garden to pray,
Away from the world calling out for my death,
This burden I bear is crushing my spirit,
So I seek some the comfort of my Father, this day.
Abba Father, my God oh how I need Thee,
For I have a hole where my heart should be,
My very soul has become sullen with despair,
Look into my eyes, the truth of my pain You’ll see.
Taste the sweat of my brow; it’s lost all saltiness,
And my stomach has become an empty, twisted pit,
Grief is covering my bones like a layer of skin,
My blood curdles with anguish over man’s sinfulness.
My Father, forgive those who unwittingly persecute me,
For they have become blind with selfish ambitions,
They selfishly traded honor for tantalizing wine,
Bring healing to them, and then by Your will, restore me.
‘Then they came to a place which was named Gethsemane;
and Jesus said to his disciples, Sit here while I pray.’