In the Garden

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I am prostrate but I cannot pray
There’s too much that’s been taken away
I’m left with nothing but wilderness
God, you clean it up: you made the mess
And then I hear from a nearby stone
My God, my God, do not leave me alone

I raise my head from my restless place
And see a man’s agonized sorrowful face
He looks as if he might die right now
Drops of blood dripping from his brow
And while for what I have lost I pine
I hear him say Not my will, but thine

I arise and approach the crying man
And gently I hold his shaking hand
Have you also like me lost a child?
Is this the pain that is making you wild?
I will lose none that my Father gave me
But my Father will lose me tomorrow, you see

To suffer and die here is why I came
Sorrow and death will never be the same
In this garden we all come through
And I am always right here with you
And when I rise from the tomb set free
The both of you I will take with me

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