The North Transept: The Psalms XII

Spirit of prayer and praise, with gentle hand .
Thou lead'st me, calming every wayward mood,
Thro' storied scenes and haunts of sacred land,
Unto a dim and shadowy solitude,
Where One is in a garden dropping blood.
Lo, here comes one with accents of a friend ;
Gethsemane, is this thy night so rude ?
On yon dark mound the cup of woe they blend ;
There 'neath mysterious shades they for thy robe contend.