4 And shall our griefs resent
What God appoints as best,
When he, in all things innocent,
Was yet in all distressed?
Shall we unthankful be
For all our blessings round,
When in that press of agony
Such room for thanks he found?
60 shame us, Lord!-whate'er The fortunes of our days,
we are weak to bear:
If favoured, slow to praise.
1 Father! that in the olive shade, When the dark hour came on, Didst, with a breath of heavenly aid, Strengthen Thy Son:
2 O by the anguish of that night,
Send us down blest relief;
Or to the chastened, let Thy might
Hallow this grief!
3 And Thou, that when the starry sky
Saw the dread strife begun,
Didst teach adoring faith to cry,
"Thy will be done:"
4 By thy meek spirit, Thou, of all
That e'er have mourned, the chief,—
Thou, Saviour! if the stroke must fall,
Hallow our grief!
1 A voice upon the midnight air,
Where Kedron's moonlit waters stray,
Weeps forth, in agony of prayer,
"O Father! take this cup away!
2 Ah! thou who sorrowest unto death, We conquer in thy mortal fray; And Earth, for all her children, saith, "O God! take not this cup away!"
3 O Lord of sorrow! meekly die:
Thou 'lt heal or hallow all our woe;
Thy name refresh the mourner's sigh;
Thy peace revive the faint and low.
4 Great Chief of faithful souls! arise:
None else can lead the martyr-band,
Who teach the brave how peril flies,
When Faith, unarmed, uplifts the hand.
5 O King of earth! the Cross ascend:
O'er climes and ages 't is thy throne:
Where'er thy fading eye may bend,
The desert blooms, and is thine own.
6 Thy parting blessing, Lord, we pray;
Make but one fold below, above:
And when we go the last lone way,
O give the welcome of thy love.
1 O'er Kedron's streams, and Salem's height,
And Olivet's brown steep,
Moves the majestic queen of night,
And throws from heaven her silver light,
And sees the world asleep; -
2 All but the children of distress,
Of trial, grief, and care,
Whom sleep, though prayed for, will not bless; These leave the couch of restlessness,
To breathe the cool, calm air.
3 'Tis a religious hour;-for He
Who many a grief shall bear
In his own body on the tree,
Is kneeling in Gethsemane,
In agony and prayer.
4 O Holy Father, when the light
Of earthly joy grows dim,
May hope in Christ grow strong and bright To all who kneel, in sorrow's night,
In trust and prayer, like him.
1 He knelt, the Saviour knelt and prayed,
When but his Father's eye
Looked through the lonely garden's shade,
On that dread agony:
Messiah cried with suppliant breath,
Bowed down with sorrow unto death.
2 He proved them all,-the doubt, the strife,
The faint perplexing dread;
The mists that hang o'er parting life
All gathered round his head;
And the Deliverer knelt to pray,
Yet passed it not, that cup, away!
3 It passed not, though the stormy wave
Had sunk beneath his tread;
It passed not, though to him the grave
Had yielded up its dead:
But there was sent him from on high
A gift of strength, for man to die!
4 And was the Sinless thus beset
With anguish and dismay?
How may we meet our conflict yet,
In the dark narrow way?
Through him, through him that path who trod,
The Son of Man,-the Son of God!
1 Bound upon the accursed tree,
Faint and bleeding, who is he?
By the looks so pale and worn,
By the crown of twisted thorn,
By the side so deeply pierced,
By the baffled, burning thirst,
By the drooping, death-dewed brow,
Son of Man! 't is Thou! 't is Thou!
2 Bound upon the accursed tree,
Dread and awful, who is he?
By the sun at noon-day pale;
Shivering rocks and rending veil,
By earth that trembles at his doom,
By the saints who burst their tomb,
Lord! our suppliant knees we bow,
Son of God! 't is Thou! 't is Thou!
3 Bound upon the accursed tree,
Sad and dying, who is he?
By the last and bitter cry,
The ghost given up in agony;
By the lifeless body laid
In the chamber of the dead;
Crucified! we know thee now;
Son of Man! 't is Thou! 't is Thou!
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