'Tis midnight, and on Olive's brow
The star is dimmed that lately shone;
'Tis midnight in the garden now,
The suff'ring Savior prays alone.
'Tis midnight, and from all removed,
The Savior wrestles lone with fears —
E'en that disciple whom He loved
Heeds not his Master's grief and tears.
'Tis midnight, and for other's guilt
The Man of Sorrows weeps in blood;
Yet He that hath in anguish knelt
Is not forsaken by His God.
'Tis midnight, and from ether-plains
Is borne the song that angels know —
Unheard by mortals are the strains
That sweetly soothe the Savior's woe.