Night, with Ebon Pinion

Night

with eb­on pin­ion

brood­ed o’er the vale;

All around was si­lent

save the night wind’s wail

When Christ

the Man of Sor­rows

In tears

and sweat

and blood

Prostrate in the gar­den

raised His voice to God.

Smitten for of­fens­es which were not His own

He

for our trans­gress­ions

had to weep alone;

No friend with words to com­fort

Nor hand to help was there

When the Meek and Low­ly hum­bly bowed in pray­er.

Abba

Fa­ther

Fa­ther

if in­deed it may

Let this cup of ang­uish pass from Me

I pray;

Yet

if it must be suf­fered

by Me

Thine on­ly Son

Abba

Fa­ther

Fa­ther

let Thy will be done.