(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

    © 1981 Gabriel Earl Music (ASCAP)

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