'Tis midnight, and on Olive's brow

' Tis midnight, and on Olive's brow The star is dimmed that lately shone; ' Tis midnight in the garden now, The suff'ring Savior prays alone.

' Tis midnight, and from all removed, The Savior wrestles lone with fears- E'en that disciple whom He loved Heeds not his Master's grief and tears.

' Tis midnight, and for other's guilt The Man of Sorrows weeps in blood; Yet He that hath in anguish knelt Is not forsaken by His God.

' Tis midnight, and from ether-plains Is borne the song that angels know- Unheard by mortals are the strains That sweetly soothe the Savior's woe.