tr., John Brownlie

I

Within the garden's sombre shade,

The Christ of God in anguish prayed; --

And who that agony could tell,

As from his brow the blood-drops fell?

II

|Can you not watch one hour?| He saith,

|My soul is sorrowful to death.|

But He alone the vigil kept,

While worn disciples slumbering slept.

III

O dark the cloud that threatening hung,

And sore the grief His soul that wrung, --

The hate of man, the guilty name,

The bitter Cross, the sin and shame.

IV

|If I must drink this cup,| He prayed,

|The burden bear upon me laid,

My God, I bow Me to Thy will,

And meekly Thy behest fulfil.|

V

My soul, when to the garden led,

And clouds are gathering overhead,

When none the hour of anguish shares,

To God direct thy earnest prayers.

VI

|Thy will be done, Thy will is best, --

Even then the bitter cup is blest, --

If 'tis Thy will the cup I'll drain,

Despite the agony of pain.|