For sake of thy dear Son,
To rise above Gethsemane,
And say, "Thy will be done."
And say it yet again, Oh Lord,
Though blood bedews the brow,
And sword and staves and Judas' kiss
Would drive us from our vow.
When men have nailed us to the cross,
And spear has pierced us through,
Father, forgive; Oh, blessed word!
They know not what they do.
When dark despair has shrouded us,
And his the light of day,
Then from the tomb of buried hopes,
Roll thou the stone away.
And when at last our work is done,
And spent this mortal breath,
And he is ris'n, help us to rise,
And triumph over death.
Oh, teach us daily to forget
The cup, the cross, the thorn,
Remembering only, after these,
A glorious Easter Morn.
__Matilda M. Kenyon
Contemporary Kansas Poetry
Helen Rhoda Hoopes
(Kansas City: Joseph D. Havens Company. 1927)