The Will of the Divine

The Son of God, the Perfect One, yet too a man was He

He felt each pain, He wept, He hurt in the silence of Gethsemane.

He fell upon His face, He bled, He shrunk before the cup
Alone He trod the wine press, by an angel lifted up.

He was pained and very heavy, awestruck, troubled and grieved.

He was sore amazed, in anguish and afflicted here for me.

He sweat as it were great drops of blood, dejected and depressed.

Sorrowful unto death, astonished, stricken and distressed.

In agony of soul He cried, "Abba, all things are possible to Thee
If thou be willing, take away, let pass this cup from me."

Then the Perfect Son concluded, "Not my will be done, but Thine"

The suffering of the Beloved Son. The Will of the Divine.

For the Father and the Son had love beyond their grief

And knew that only Perfect blood could offer true relief.

Because His cup was bitter, my cup can be sweet.

His cleansing blood can make me whole to kneel before His feet.