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 fulfil."
Go to the garden, sinner; see
Those precious drops that flow;
The heavy load He bore for thee;
For thee He lies so low.