  157L. M. Christ the sufferer. O suffering Friend of human kind! How, as the fatal hour drew near, Came thronging on thy holy mind The images of grief and fear! 2 Gethsemane’s sad midnight scene, The faithless friends, th’ exulting foes, The thorny crown, the insult keen, The scourge, the cross, before thee rose. 3 Did not thy spirit shrink dismayed, As the dark vision o’er it came; And, though in sinless strength arrayed, Turn, shuddering, from the death of shame? 4 Onward, like thee, through scorn and dread, May we our Father’s call obey, Steadfast thy path of duty tread, And rise, through death, to endless day. 158L. M. Led as a lamb to the slaughter. The morning dawns upon the place Where Jesus spent the night in prayer; Through yielding glooms behold his face! Nor form, nor comeliness is there. 2 Brought forth to judgment, now he stands Arraigned, condemned, at Pilate’s bar; Here, spurned by fierce pretorian bands; There, mocked by Herod’s men of war. 3 He bears their buffeting and scorn— Mock-homage of the lip, the knee— The purple robe, the crown of thorn— The scourge, the nail, the accursed tree. 4 No guile within his mouth is found; He neither threatens nor complains; Meek as a lamb for slaughter bound, Dumb ’mid his murderers he remains. 5 But hark, he prays; ’tis for his foes And speaks: ’tis comfort to his friends; Answers: and paradise bestows; He bows his head: the conflict ends. 159L. M. The midnight agony. ’Tis midnight; and on Olive’s brow The star is dimmed that lately shone; ’Tis midnight; in the garden now, The suffering Saviour prays alone. 2 ’Tis midnight; and, from all removed, The Saviour wrestles lone, with fears; E’en that disciple whom he loved Heeds not his Master’s grief and tears. 3 ’Tis midnight; and for others’ guilt The man of sorrows weeps in blood; Yet he that hath in anguish knelt Is not forsaken by his God. 4 ’Tis midnight; from the heavenly plains Is borne the song that angels know; Unheard by mortals are the strains That sweetly soothe the Saviour’s woe. 160C. M. The bitter cup. Dark was the night, and cold the ground On which the Lord was laid: His sweat like drops of blood ran down; In agony he prayed. 2 “Father, remove this bitter cup, If such thy sacred will; If not, content to drink it up, Thy pleasure I fulfill.” 3 Go to the garden, sinner: see Those precious drops that flow; The heavy load he bore for thee: For thee he lies so low. 4 Then learn of him the cross to bear, Thy Father’s will obey; And, when temptations press thee near, Awake to watch and pray. 161S. M. He beheld the city, and wept over it. Did Christ o’er sinners weep, And shall our cheeks be dry? Let tears of penitential grief Flow forth from every eye. 2 The Son of God in tears, The wondering angels see; Be thou astonished, O my soul, He shed those tears for thee. 3 He wept that we might weep, Each sin demands a tear, In heaven alone no sin is found And there’s no weeping there. 1627s, 6 lines. His example in suffering. Go to dark Gethsemane, Ye that feel the tempter’s power; Your Redeemer’s conflict see; Watch with him one bitter hour: Turn not from his griefs away; Learn of Jesus Christ to pray. 2 Follow to the judgment hall: View the Lord of life arraigned; O, the wormwood and the gall! O, the pangs his soul sustained! Shun not suffering, shame, or loss; Learn of him to bear the cross. 3 Calvary’s mournful mountain climb; There, admiring at his feet, Mark that miracle of time, God’s own sacrifice complete: “It is finished,” hear him cry; Learn of Jesus Christ to die. 1636s & 5s. Christ in the garden. 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. 2 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. 3 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. 164P. M. Gethsemane. Beyond where Cedron’s waters flow, Behold the suffering Saviour go To sad Gethsemane; His countenance is all divine, Yet grief appears in every line. 2 He bows beneath the sins of men; He cries to God, and cries again, In sad Gethsemane: He lifts his mournful eyes above— “My Father, can this cup remove?” 3 With gentle resignation still, He yielded to his Father’s will In sad Gethsemane; “Behold me here, thine only Son; And, Father, let thy will be done.” 4 The Father heard; and angels, there, Sustained the Son of God in prayer, In sad Gethsemane: He drank the dreadful cup of pain— Then rose to life and joy again. 5 When storms of sorrow round us sweep, And scenes of anguish make us weep, To sad Gethsemane We’ll look, and see the Saviour there, And humbly bow, like him, in prayer. 165C. H. M. Agony in the garden. He knelt; the Saviour knelt and prayed, When but his Father’s eye Looked, through the lonely garden shade, On that dread agony; The Lord of high and heavenly birth Was bowed with sorrow unto death. 2 The sun went down in fearful hour; The heavens might well grow dim, When this mortality had power Thus to o’ershadow him; That he who came to save might know The very depths of human woe. 3 He knew them all—the doubt, the strife, The faint, perplexing dread; The mists that hang o’er parting life All darkened round his head; And the Deliverer knelt to pray; Yet passed it not, that cup, away. 4 It passed not, though the stormy wave Had sunk beneath his tread; It passed not, though to him the grave Had yielded up its dead; But there was sent him, from on high, A gift of strength, for man to die. 5 And was his mortal hour beset With anguish and dismay? How may we meet our conflict yet In the dark, narrow way? How, but through him that path who trod: “Save, or we perish, Son of God.” 166S. H. M. Betrayal. Among the mountain trees, The winds were whispering low, And night’s ten thousand harmonies Were harmonies of woe; A voice of grief was on the gale, It came from Cedron’s gloomy vale. 2 It was the Saviour’s prayer That on the silence broke, Imploring strength from heaven to bear The sin-avenging stroke, As in Gethsemane he knelt, And pangs unknown his bosom felt. 3 The fitful starlight shone In dim and misty gleams, Deep was his agonizing groan, And large the vital streams That trickled to the dewy sod, While Jesus raised his voice to God. 4 The chosen three that staid, Their nightly watch to keep, Left him through sorrows deep to wade, And gave themselves to sleep: Meekly and sad he prayed alone; Strangely forgotten by his own. 5 Along the streamlet’s bank The reckless traitor came, And heavy on his bosom sank The load of guilt and shame; Yet unto them that waited nigh He gave the Lamb of God to die. 6 Among the mountain trees The winds were whispering low, And night’s ten thousand harmonies Were harmonies of woe; For cruel voices filled the gale That came from Cedron’s gloomy vale. 16711s. Thou sweet gliding Cedron. Thou sweet gliding Cedron, by thy silver stream Our Saviour would linger in moonlight’s soft beam: And by thy bright waters till midnight would stay, And lose in thy murmurs the toils of the day. CHORUS. Come, saints, and adore him; come bow at his feet; O give him the glory, the praise that is meet; Let joyful hosannas unceasing arise, And join the full chorus that gladdens the skies. 2 How damp were the vapors that fell on his head, How hard was his pillow, how humble his bed; The angels beholding, amazed at the sight, Attended their Master with solemn delight. 3 O garden of Olives! thou dear honored spot, The fame of thy wonders shall ne’er be forgot; The theme most transporting to seraphs above, The triumph of sorrow, the triumph of love! |
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