THE BELLS OF GETHSEMANI 
(Music by Joan Baez / Words by Thomas Merton) 


Sweet brother, if I do not sleep 
My eyes are flowers on your tomb 
And if I cannot eat my bread 
My fasts shall live like willows where you died 
If in the heat I find no water for my thirst 
My thirst shall turn to springs for you, poor traveler 

Come, in your labor find a resting place 
And in my sorrows lay your head 
Brother, take my life and bread 
And buy yourself a better bed 
Take my breath and take my death 
Buy yourself a better rest beneath the bells of Gethsemani 

When all the men of war are killed 
And flags have fallen into dust 
Your cross and mine will tell men still 
He died on each for both of us 
That we might become the brothers of God 
And learn to know the Christ of burnt men 

And the children are ringing the bells of Gethsemani 

For in the wreckage of your April Christ lies slain 
He weeps in the ruins of my spring 
The money of whose tears shall fall 
Into your weak and friendless hand 
And buy you back to your own land 

The silence of whose tears shall fall 
Like bells upon your alien tomb 
Hear them and come, they call you home 
And the children are ringing the bells of Gethsemani 

Yes, if they had been there 
They would have taken that crown of thorns from his hair 
And stayed for a while in that place of despair 
Ah, but what do I see, my brother is there 
And he's ringing the bells of Gethsemani