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,

   The Savior wrestles lone with fears —

E'en that disciple whom He loved

   Heeds not his Master's grief and tears.

 3 

'Tis midnight, and for other's 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 ether-plains

   Is borne the song that angels know —

Unheard by mortals are the strains

   That sweetly soothe the Savior's woe.