Olivet

A Poem

Jesu kneels here – solemn, silent, distressed

And to the very ground His Face He pressed

To the earth He once formed in His Image

Now, rising, He is drenched in the perpetual vintage

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Poured forth for all and for our own sake

Whilst Jesu a great battle wast to undertake

A tremendous pain long foreknown

Yet, God's glory must still be shown

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“What is He thinking?” you say...?

How doth the Son to the Father pray?

It is of us and our wrongs Jesu contemplates

It is our restlessness, our love-longing, which He satiates

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Here the Fruit of Mary's womb pleaded

But consented to approach the Tree the world needed

He would lift all of vice's tribulation,

Destroy it,

And bring life to us through His Crucifixion