’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.