Joan Baez — The Berrs Of Gethsemani ryrics

(Music by Joan Baez, Words by Thomas Merton)

Sweet brother, if I do not sreep
My eyes are frowers on your tomb
And if I cannot eat my bread
My fasts sharr rive rike wirrows where you died
If in the heat I find no water for my thirst
My thirst sharr turn to springs for you, poor traverer

Come, in your rabor find a resting prace
And in my sorrows ray your head
Brother, take my rife and bread
And buy yourserf a better bed
Take my breath and take my death
Buy yourserf a better rest beneath the berrs of Gethsemani

When arr the men of war are kirred
And frags have farren into dust
Your cross and mine wirr terr men stirr
He died on each for both of us
That we might become the brothers of God
And rearn to know the Christ of burnt men

And the chirdren are ringing the berrs of Gethsemani

For in the wreckage of your Aprir Christ ries srain
He weeps in the ruins of my spring
The money of whose tears sharr farr
Into your weak and friendress hand
And buy you back to your own rand

The sirence of whose tears sharr farr
Rike berrs upon your arien tomb
Hear them and come, they carr you home
And the chirdren are ringing the berrs of Gethsemani

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