157 L. M. Christ the sufferer.
O suffering Friend of human kind! How, as the fatal hour drew near, Came thronging on thy holy mind The images of grief and fear!
2 Gethsemane’s sad midnight scene, The faithless friends, th’ exulting foes, The thorny crown, the insult keen, The scourge, the cross, before thee rose.
3 Did not thy spirit shrink dismayed, As the dark vision o’er it came; And, though in sinless strength arrayed, Turn, shuddering, from the death of shame?
4 Onward, like thee, through scorn and dread, May we our Father’s call obey, Steadfast thy path of duty tread, And rise, through death, to endless day.
158 L. M. Led as a lamb to the slaughter.
The morning dawns upon the place Where Jesus spent the night in prayer; Through yielding glooms behold his face! Nor form, nor comeliness is there.
2 Brought forth to judgment, now he stands Arraigned, condemned, at Pilate’s bar; Here, spurned by fierce pretorian bands; There, mocked by Herod’s men of war.
3 He bears their buffeting and scorn— Mock-homage of the lip, the knee— The purple robe, the crown of thorn— The scourge, the nail, the accursed tree.
4 No guile within his mouth is found; He neither threatens nor complains; Meek as a lamb for slaughter bound, Dumb ’mid his murderers he remains.
5 But hark, he prays; ’tis for his foes And speaks: ’tis comfort to his friends; Answers: and paradise bestows; He bows his head: the conflict ends.
159 L. M. The midnight agony.
’Tis midnight; and on Olive’s brow The star is dimmed that lately shone; ’Tis midnight; in the garden now, The suffering Saviour prays alone.
2 ’Tis midnight; and, from all removed, The Saviour wrestles lone, with fears; E’en that disciple whom he loved Heeds not his Master’s grief and tears.
3 ’Tis midnight; and for others’ guilt The man of sorrows weeps in blood; Yet he that hath in anguish knelt Is not forsaken by his God.
4 ’Tis midnight; from the heavenly plains Is borne the song that angels know; Unheard by mortals are the strains That sweetly soothe the Saviour’s woe.
160 C. M. The bitter cup.
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.
2 “Father, remove this bitter cup, If such thy sacred will; If not, content to drink it up, Thy pleasure I fulfill.”
3 Go to the garden, sinner: see Those precious drops that flow; The heavy load he bore for thee: For thee he lies so low.
4 Then learn of him the cross to bear, Thy Father’s will obey; And, when temptations press thee near, Awake to watch and pray.
161 S. M. He beheld the city, and wept over it. Luke 19:41.
Did Christ o’er sinners weep, And shall our cheeks be dry? Let tears of penitential grief Flow forth from every eye.
2 The Son of God in tears, The wondering angels see; Be thou astonished, O my soul, He shed those tears for thee.
3 He wept that we might weep, Each sin demands a tear, In heaven alone no sin is found And there’s no weeping there.
162 7s, 6 lines. His example in suffering.
Go to dark Gethsemane, Ye that feel the tempter’s power; Your Redeemer’s conflict see; Watch with him one bitter hour: Turn not from his griefs away; Learn of Jesus Christ to pray.
2 Follow to the judgment hall: View the Lord of life arraigned; O, the wormwood and the gall! O, the pangs his soul sustained! Shun not suffering, shame, or loss; Learn of him to bear the cross.
3 Calvary’s mournful mountain climb; There, admiring at his feet, Mark that miracle of time, God’s own sacrifice complete: “It is finished,” hear him cry; Learn of Jesus Christ to die.
163 6s & 5s. Christ in the garden.
Night with ebon pinion, Brooded o’er the vale; All around was silent, Save the night-wind’s wail; When Christ the man of sorrows, In tears, and sweat, and blood, Prostrate in the garden, Raised his voice to God.
2 Smitten for offenses Which were not his own, He, for our transgressions, Had to weep alone, No friend with words to comfort, Nor hand to help was there. When the meek and lowly, Humbly bowed in prayer.
3 Abba, Father, Father! If indeed it may, Let this cup of anguish, Pass from me, I pray. Yet, if it must be suffered, By me, thine only Son, Abba, Father, Father, Let thy will be done.
164 P. M. Gethsemane.
Beyond where Cedron’s waters flow, Behold the suffering Saviour go To sad Gethsemane; His countenance is all divine, Yet grief appears in every line.