Whene’er again thou sinkest
My heart
beneath thy load
Or from the battle shrinkest
And murmurest at thy God;
Then I will lead thee hither
To watch thy Savior’s prayer
And learn from His endurance
How thou shouldst also bear.
Oh come
wouldst thou be like Him
Thy Lord divine
and mark
What sharpest sorrows strike Him
What anguish deep and dark—
That earnest cry to spare Him
The trial scarce begun?
Yet still he saith: My Father
Thy will
not Mine
be done!
Oh wherefore doth His spirit
Such bitter conflict know?
What sins
what crimes could merit
Such deep and awful woe?
So pure are not the heavens
So clear no noonday sun
And yet He saith: My Father
Oh mark that night of sorrow
That agony of prayer;
No friend can watch till morrow
His grief to soothe and share;
Oh where shall He find comfort?
With God
with God alone;
And still He saith: My Father
Hath life for Him no gladness
No joy the light of day?
Can He then feel no sadness
When heart and hope give way?
That cup of mortal anguish
One bitter cry hath won
That it might pass: Yet
Father
And who the cup prepared Him
And who the poison gave?
’Twas one He loved ensnared Him
’Twas they He came to save.
Oh sharpest pain
to suffer
Betrayed and mocked—alone;
Yet still he saith: My Father
But what is joy or living
What treachery or death
When all His work
His striving
Seem hanging on His breath?
Oh can it stand without Him
That work but just begun?
Yet still He saith: My Father
He speaks; no more He shrinketh
Himself He offers up
He sees it all
yet drinketh
For us that bitter cup;
He goes to meet the traitor
The cross He will not shun—
He saith: I come
My Father
My Savior
I will never
Forget Thy word of grace
But still repeat it ever
Through good and evil days;
And looking up to Heaven
Till all my race is run
I’ll humbly say: My Father
not mine
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