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'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.


'Tis midnight, and from all removed,
Immanuel wrestles, lone, with fears,
E'en the disciple that he loved,
Heeds not his Master's grief and tears.


'Tis midnight, and for other's guilt
The Man of Sorrows weeps in blood;
Yet he that hath in anguish knelt,
Is not forsaken by his God:


'Tis midnight, from the heavenly plains,
Is borne the song that angels know;
Unheard by mortals are the strains
That sweetly sooth the Saviour's woe.