Classic Poem

Spread thick above, ye clouds, your dusky veil,
Hide from yon stars the Savior's bitter woe;
Breathe, ye night winds, in murmurs sad and low,
Or lift, in fitful gusts, your mournful wail:
Listen, thou Olivet! and Kedron's vale
Catch the sad accents that are borne to thee
From yonder shade — thine own Gethsemane —
As when one pleadeth, and doth not prevail.
See, to the earth the holy sufferer sinks;
Weighs on his heart an anguish all unknown;
Bursts from his lips the thrice repeated prayer,
Yet firm his will the utmost pang to bear;
Till for him fainting while the cup he drinks,
Angels bring succors from the eternal throne!