1  '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.

 2  '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.

 3  '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.

 4  '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.