'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
Immanuel wrestles, lone, with fears;
E'en the disciple whom He loved
Heeds not his Master's grief and tears.

'Tis midnight, from the heav'nly plains
Are borne the songs that angels know;
Unheard by mortals are the strains
That sweetly soothe the Savior's woe.