1 Over Kidron Jesus treadeth
To His passion for us all;
Every human eye be weeping,
Tears of bitter grief let fall!
Round His spirit flock the foes,
Place their shafts and bend their bows,
Aiming at the Saviour solely,
While the world forsakes Him wholly.

2 David once, with heart afflicted,
Crossed o'er Kidron's narrow strand,
Clouds of gloom and grief about him
When an exile from his land.
But, O Jesus, blacker now
Bends the cloud above Thy brow,
Hasting to death's dreary portals
For the shame and sin of mortals.

3 See Him anguish-sticken falling,
Prostrate, and with struggling breath,
Three times on His Father calling,
Praying that the bitter death
And the cup of doom may go;
Still He cries, in all His woe:
"Not My will, but Thine, O Father,"
And the angels round Him gather.

4 See how, in that hour of darkness,
Battling with the evil power,
Agonies untold assail Him,
On His soul the arrows shower;
And the garden flowers are wet
With the drops of bloody sweat,
From His anguished frame distilling--
Our redemption thus fulfilling!

5 But, O flowers, so sadly watered
By this pure and precious dew,
Faith alone can know its power
And your beauty rightly view.
Eden's Garden did not bear
Aught that can with you compare,
For the blood, thus freely given,
Makes my soul the heir of heaven.

6 When as flowers themselves I wither,
When I droop and fade like grass,
When the life-streams through my pulses
Dull and ever duller pass,
When at last they cease to roll,
Then, to cheer my sinking soul,
Grace of Jesus, be Thou given--
Source of Triumph! Pledge of heaven!