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The glory of the kingdom spread
Over the mountain's lofty head
Lighting the rocky steeps;
And Jesu's robes were glittering white,
His face — the sun in all its might —
And Peter sleeps!
'Tis night, and in Gethsemane
A prostrate form in agony
With bitter crying, weeps:
The darkness deepens at His groan,
The darkest night this earth has known —
And Peter sleeps!
He lies upon the dungeon floor;
The guard, quadrupled, round the door
Its midnight vigil keeps;
Two chains of iron bind him fast,
Tomorrow's morn shall be his last
And Peter sleeps!
E. L. Bevir.