“Then they came to a place named Gethsemane…. and He began to be deeply distressed and horrified.” (Mark 14:32–33)
Wake my soul, the hour is late,
Hour of darkness and of fate;
Jesus to the Garden goes,
There to taste sin’s bitter woes;
Wake my soul, for ‘tis for thee
Jesus seeks Gethsemane.
See the Saviour prostrate now,
Sweat of blood upon His brow!
Hear my soul the piercing cry,
Cleaving thrice the silent sky!
Sorer anguish cannot be
Than Thy pains, Gethsemane.
Gaze, my soul, with wonder gaze,
‘Tis Thy Saviour weeps and prays!
Treads the winepress all alone,
Makes us sharers of His throne,
Boundless love, and all for me,
None may tell, for none may know,
Why the Saviour suffered so;
Depth of agony and pain
None can measure or explain;
But I know they were for me,
Sorrows of Gethsemane!
Lo the fight is fought and won!
“Not my will, but Thine be done,
And the angels swift of wing
To the garden sweep and sing.
Sing my soul, for ‘tis for thee,
Dread, but dear Gethsemane!