The Lonely Olive Mill

Annie Johnson Flint

(Gethsemane means oil-press, and is the name
of an olive-yard at the foot of the Mount of Olives)

There's a peaceful vale in a sunny land
Where the hills keep guard around,
And the soft breeze stirs the olive trees
And the grass that clothes the ground.
And in the hush and solitude
Where even the birds are still,
There stands untended and alone
An ancient olive mill.

Through the long bright day the mill wheel turns
And the fruit is crushed by the stone,
And quietly drips the fragrant oil
In silence and alone.
But somewhere out in the circling hills,
Unseen, unheard, unknown,
The Master of the olive mill
Is mindful of his own.

So many hours the wheel must turn,
And stone on stone must grind,
And then he will come to his olive mill,
His need of oil to find.
He knows how heavy the weight must be,
How long to let it lie,
Ere he can gather the precious oil
And throw the refuse by.

O child of God, are you being crushed
Neath trial, pain or woe?
No eye to pity, no ear to hear,
No voice to whisper low?
Alone in your Gethsemane,
Christ watches with you there.
He will not suffer one ounce of weight
More than your strength can bear.

He chasteneth but to purify;
He crusheth but to raise;
In love he worketh his blessed will
To his glory's endless praise.
In our affliction, afflicted still
He leaveth us not alone;
He will not forget, he will not forsake,
He is mindful of his own!