“Father divine!” the Saviour cried,

While horrors pressed on every side,

And prostrate on the ground he lay,

“Remove this bitter cup away.

“But if these pangs must still be borne,

Or helpless man be left forlorn,

I bow my soul before thy throne,

And say,—Thy will, not mine, be done!”

Thus our submissive souls would bow,

And, taught by Jesus, lie as low;

Our hearts, and not our lips alone,

Would say,—Thy will, not ours, be done!