The world in silence waits around,
The pendant branches sway,
While, in the shadows more profound,
The Master kneels to pray.
The hours of night go flying on,
Fierce dangers haste the day;
’Tis now the Master seeks His own—
They need to watch and pray.
The foes of righteousness awake,
They hither press their way,
Their clamors on the silence break—
Awake, ye saints, and pray!
’Tis e’er in dark Gethsemane
The Master strives alone,
Yet ever comes with tender care
To wake and warn His own.