Night has fallen in the Garden of Fate,
Peaceful and silent, as destiny awaits.
Coolness and dew, tragedy and tears.
Mist of the earth, confirming it's fears.

Time taking it's toll, as footsteps are heard.
Jesus enters the garden, not saying a word.
His soul exceeding sorrowful, even unto death.
Anguish revealed, by the sigh of His breath.

A shelter of comfort, a longing to ease,
Covering the man, in the shade of the trees.
Rocks lending strength, to His weakened state.
Bearing His burden, holding His weight.

Meadowgrass softening His grief and His pain,
A blanket of compassion, yet sadness remains.
No longer able, to hold composure in place.
He drops to His knees, tears streaking His face.

As agony engulfs, more earnest in prayer.
In the depths of His heart, emotions are bared.
His sweat, as it were, great drops of blood.
Fall to the ground, as a tormented flood.

Abba, Father, all things are possible to Thee.
If it be Your will, let this cup pass from Me.
His face to the heavens, My Father Divine...
Nevertheless, not my will, but let it be Thine.

No truer example has ever been set...
Than the love of Jesus, to pay our sin's debt.
Obedient til death, He gave us His all,
Would you open your heart, taking heed to His call?

Enter the garden, and examine your will,
Could you die to self, letting God be fulfilled?
It may not be easy, but His glory will shine...
When you give Him your all and say...
Not my will, but thine.

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