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!