’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.