The Appointed Hour
The night was lit by the full moon
Which cast the temple's shadow where
It added to the cloak of gloom
As the group walked away off there
Descending the city, weary
They crossed by a little brook
And soon passed the cemetery
On a path they often took
The grass was tall. It soaked each hem
In the garden where trees were budding
As they walked the wind howled, driven
Adding to the sense of foreboding
Christ's clothes grew heavy as did His heart
It became laborious to step
From the disciples, He turned to part
The appointed hour must be kept...
How many times had He been present
When the olives, here, were pressed?
History lay poised for this event
His deepest thoughts, He expressed
"My soul is very sorrowful."
This He compared even to death
The bitter cup was ever full
With a seemingly endless depth
Peter, James and John, He asked to watch keep
As a ways off the Lord went to pray alone
His friends proved weak and soon fell asleep
Indeed, this night, Christ was utterly on His own
for the appointed hour...
His Final (Inspired by The Savior's Final Week by Andrew C. Skinner
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