December 23

TO the still wrestlings of the lonely heart He doth impart

The virtue of His midnight agony, When none was nigh,

Save God and one good angel, to assuage The tempest's rage.

Mortal! if life smile on thee, and thou find All to thy mind,

Think, who did once from Heaven to Hell descend Thee to befriend;

So shalt thou dare forego, at His dear call, Thy best, thine all.

"O Father! not my will, but Thine be done"— So spake the Son.

Be this our charm, mellowing Earth's ruder noise Of griefs and joys:

That we may cling for ever to Thy breast In perfect rest!

JOHN KEBLE

GETHSEMANE