1 ’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.

2 ’Tis midnight, and, from all removed,
Emmanuel wrestles lone with fears:
e’en the disciple that 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; and from heav'nly plains
is borne the song that angels know;
unheard by mortals are the strains
that sweetly soothe the Savior’s woe.