Classic Poem

“Tarry ye here!” the Saviour said
And to the deeper shade withdrew
Of that dark spot near Kedron's bed
Where high, o'er-arching olives grew.

“Tarry ye here!” nor friend, nor foe
Must on this dreadful hour intrude,
My soul must face its bitterest woe
In silence and in solitude.

“Tarry ye here!” for I alone
Must enter dark Gethsemane,
No ear but God's must list my moan,
Though ye without may watch with me.”

“Tarry ye here,” each sufferer says,
“Pain's common portals open wide,
But sorrow has mysterious ways
Where even from you my soul must hide.

“Wait till the purple shadows spun
About my grief's Gethsemane
Have thinned a little in the sun
That never long obscured can be;

“Stay till the spirit, dumb with pain,
Has spent its inarticulate cry,
And faith so parched has drunk the rain
Of God's compassion from the sky.”

“Tarry ye here,” the Saviour said,
And into deeper shade withdrew,
Then to the soul uncomforted
Heaven's chiefest white-winged angels flew.