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Dear Lord Jesus,
I know when You prayed in the garden,
I know You were praying for me.
In all of the beauty of Life and the garden,
I know Your death, You could see.

You hurt.
You cried out to Father God.
You could see how we are lost,
In the land of non-caring and nod,
And, how some are sleeping still.
Seeing All things, You sweat Blood,
While Your enemies were waiting for kill.

These, Your enemies surrounded,
To suck dry Your Life and Limb.
You cared enough to keep praying,
For me and all of them.

In the Garden of Gethsemane,
You prayed the cup would pass.
Death would not come near.
Yet, with Your Death, the world would know,.
True Life and Love;
At last True God, so clear.

You prayed the cup would surpass death
that was enstore.
Yet, this horrid death was the Only Way,
Your Salvation could restore.

The honeysuckle bloomed in the dark,
With sweet perfume.
The beauty of the garden loomed with life.

Take away this pain and strife.
You felt betrayal's power.
For, could they not pray, one hour?
The spirit is willing, but, the flesh is weak.
Then, a kiss fell upon Your Cheek,
And, You were led away.

Ida Rosetta Raye Johnson

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