Then cometh Jesus with them unto a place called _Gethsemane_, and saith unto his disciples, Sit ye here, while I go and pray yonder.--Matthew, xxvi. 36. Jesus went forth with his disciples over the brook Cedron, where was a _garden_, into the which he entered, and his disciples.--John, xviii. 1. In the place where he was crucified there was a _garden_; and in the _garden_ a new sepulchre, wherein was never man yet laid. There laid they Jesus.--John, xix. 41, 42. The mighty Lord of heaven and earth, By Gihon’s pure and placid stream, That from the new-born hills came forth, To sparkle in the sun’s young beam-- Upraised, all lovely as a dream To hearts of holy feeling given, The _garden_-bowers with joy that teem For the peculiar wards of heaven:-- For man and woman--blessed pair! In innocence and beauty made: With sinless lips to breathe the air, Whose odorous gales around them played; With hearts as pure as dew-drops laid Within the rose’s virgin breast; With souls that never felt a shade Of gloom upon their prospects rest. _Knox._ Bring the thrilling scene Home to thine inmost soul:--the sufferer’s cry, “Father, if it be possible, this cup Take thou away.--Yet not my will but thine:” The sleeping friends who could not watch one hour, The torch, the flashing sword, the traitor’s kiss, The astonished angel, with the tear of Heaven Upon his cheek, still striving to assuage Those fearful pangs that bowed the Son of God, Like a bruised reed. Thou who hast power to look Thus at _Gethsemane_, be still! be still! What are thine insect-woes, compared to His Who agonizeth there? Count thy brief pains As the dust atom on life’s chariot-wheels, And in a Saviour’s grief forget them all. _Mrs. Sigourney._ The palm--the vine--the cedar--each hath power To bid fair oriental shapes glance by, And each quick glistening of the laurel bower Waft Grecian images, o’er fancy’s eye: But thou, pale olive! in thy branches lie Far deeper spells than prophet grove of old Might e’er enshrine:--I could not hear thee sigh To the wind’s faintest whisper, nor behold One shiver of thy leaves’ dim silvery green, Without high thoughts and solemn of that scene When in the _Garden_ the Redeemer prayed-- When pale stars looked upon His fainting head, And angels, ministering in silent dread, Trembled, perchance, within thy trembling shade. _Hemans._