1 O suffering Friend of human kind! How, as the fatal hour drew near, Came thronging on thy holy mind The images of grief and fear. 2 Gethsemane's sad midnight scene, The faithless friends, the exulting foes, The thorny crown, the insult keen, The scourge, the cross, before thee rose. 3 Did not thy spirit shrink dismayed, As the dark vision o'er it came; And though in sinless strength arrayed, Turn, shuddering, from the death of shame? 4 Onward, like thee, through scorn and dread, May we our Father's call obey, Steadfast thy path of duty tread, And rise, through death, to endless day. 130. L. M. Doddridge. "Thy Will, Not Mine, Be Done." 1 "Father divine!" the Saviour cried, While horrors pressed on every side, And prostrate on the ground he lay, "Remove this bitter cup away. 2 "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!" 3 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! 131. L. M. Anonymous. "Let This Cup Pass From Me." 1 A voice upon the midnight air, Where Kedron's moonlit waters stray, Weeps forth in agony of prayer, "O Father, take this cup away!" 2 Ah, thou who sorrow'st unto death, We conquer in thy mortal fray; And earth for all her children saith, "O God, take not this cup away!" 3 O Lord of sorrow, meekly die; Thou'lt heal or hallow all our woe; Thy peace shall still the mourner's sigh; Thy strength shall raise the faint and low. 4 Great chief of faithful souls, arise; None else can lead the martyr band, Who teach the soul how peril flies, When faith, unarmed, uplifts the hand. 5 O King of earth, the cross ascend; O'er climes and ages 'tis thy throne; Where'er thy fading eye may bend, The desert blooms and is thine own. 4 Thy parting blessing, Lord, we pray; Make but one fold below, above; And when we go the last, lone way, O, give the welcome of thy love. 132. C. H. M. Mrs. Hemans. The Agony in the Garden. 1 He knelt; the Saviour knelt and prayed, When but his Father's eye Looked, through the lonely garden's shade, On that dread agony; He poured in prayer his suppliant breath, Bowed down with sorrow unto death. 2 The sun went down in fearful hour; The heavens might well grow dim, When this mortality had power Thus to o'ershadow him; That he who came to save might know The very depths of human woe.