Dark was the night, and cold the ground
On which the Lord was laid;
His sweat, like drops of blood ran down;
In agony He prayed:
Father, remove this bitter cup,
If such Thy sacred will;
If not, content to drink it up,
Thy pleasure I fulfill.
Go to the garden, sinner; see
Those precious drops that flow,
The heavy load He bore for thee—
For thee He lies so low.
Then learn of Him the cross to bear;
Thy Father’s will obey;
And when temptations press thee near,
Awake to watch and pray.