Dark was the night, and cold the ground

On which the Lord was laid:

His sweat like drops of blood ran down;

In agony he prayed.

2 “Father, remove this bitter cup,

If such thy sacred will;

If not, content to drink it up,

Thy pleasure I fulfill.”

3 Go to the garden, sinner: see

Those precious drops that flow;

The heavy load he bore for thee:

For thee he lies so low.

4 Then learn of him the cross to bear,

Thy Father’s will obey;

And, when temptations press thee near,

Awake to watch and pray.