(by Élisabeth Leseur, on April 4, 1905)
O Jesus, in that garden where Thou didst see the last night of Thy life descend upon men, and a still darker night upon Thine own soul, Thou didst suffer alone. Even those who loved Thee failed in that critical hour to understand Thee and Thy torture.
O my Savior, all humanity experiences that agony in the Garden of Olives, all Christian souls go through the ineffable crisis of suffering and desolation. And, like Thee, the Christian soul is always alone in the garden of Gethsemane, in spite of tenderness and pity sleeping close at hand. No heart can penetrate deeply enough another’s pain, to pour soothing balm over it, and those who touch it sometimes only hurt the more.
Remember, then, adored Master, what that hour was to Thee; have pity on our weakness, and do Thou, Who art the only Consoler, the only Heart that can share and understand, come and appease and strengthen us, and help us to make our grief a work of salvation and of love, a living preaching of the Gospel.
O Lord, she whom I love is ill.
Thou alone canst save her.
May that be Thy Will!
Have pity on us!
