Nicholas Michell

Close on the valley's edge, what giant trees
Together group, and court the western breeze?
Firm as a tower each huge brown trunk appears,
The far-spread boughs the growth of countless years;
Patriarchs in wintry ruin, there they rise,
Their thin pale leaves all vocal as with sighs:
Sure 'tis the voice of prayer that soothes the ear,
Sure spirits of the just are hovering near;
These very boughs their shadowy roof have spread,
At night's dim hour, above Messiah's head;
Fell on this very sod His tears of woe,
Fraught with an anguish man might never know.
While earth shall last, this spot revered must be,
And hearts unborn shall bless Gethsemane.