"And when they had sung an hymn, they went out into the mount of Olives," Mark xiv, 26.
'Twas at that last and solemn supper,
Before the scene on Calvary;
Our Saviour sat with his disciples,
And sung a sacred melody,—
And were that hymn a song of sadness,
Or praise unknown until that hour;
Or melody by time made older,—
It then became a song of power.
It was the Lamb of God who sung it,
When near his hour of agony;
And soon we see him in the garden,
Of dark and cold Gethsemane;
"O Father, let this cup pass from me,"
He cried in sorrow there alone;
And with the blood-drops on his forehead,
Exclaimed, "Thy will, not mine, be done."
O yes, our dear and loving Saviour,
Could sing in spirit and with power;
And 'twas to bring lost man salvation,
That brought him to that trying hour;
And while he bowed his head in sorrow,
And to his Father told his grief;
As other eyes were dull with watchings,
An angel came to his relief!
There's none can know what Jesus suffered,
Save those who suffer with him here;
'Twas for their sins the Lamb was offered,
For them he shed the bitter tear;
Then while we sing his endless praises,
And triumph in his name and power,—
O let us ne'er forget the garden,
Nor yet our Saviour's dying hour!