Quiet is the night, dim blue sky.
A faint light kisses the trees.
Praying to the Father up on high
Jesus falls to His knees.
His hands are folded, His head bowed.
The wind blows through His hair.
His eyes lift a compassionate vow
As He says His Passion prayer.
The words cannot express His pain,
As He kneels there alone.
He pleads for friends to pray again,
But they only sleep and groan.
"Take this cup from me, Lord"
"Not my will but yours be done."
Soon His betrayer comes with sword.
The final hours had come.
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