Hushed by the shadows dark and drear,
The feathered songsters rest;
All earth in slumber doth appear,
But Christ, earth’s heav’nly Guest.
Down in the garden hear the mournful sound,
There in the darkness on the dewy ground,
While the watchers they were sleeping,
Was Jesus praying, weeping,
Was Jesus praying, weeping.
With nature’s mantle, night’s dark pall,
Beneath those garden trees,
He wrestled nobly for us all,
From sin, man to release.
Sin’s loathsome weight He bore in sweat,
That oozed in bloody flow;
Ignoble shame was His, and yet
He meekly suffered so.
For sinful mortals, rich and poor,
He fought hell’s legions fierce;
Abased, He won the vict’ry sure,
Though pangs His soul did pierce.