Tis midnight, and on Olive’s brow

’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.