'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.