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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


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