3 Calvary’s mournful mountain climb; There, admiring at his feet, Mark that miracle of time, God’s own sacrifice complete: “It is finished,” hear him cry; Learn of Jesus Christ to die. 163 6s & 5s. Christ in the garden. Night with ebon pinion, Brooded o’er the vale; All around was silent, Save the night-wind’s wail; When Christ the man of sorrows, In tears, and sweat, and blood, Prostrate in the garden, Raised his voice to God. 2 Smitten for offenses Which were not his own, He, for our transgressions, Had to weep alone, No friend with words to comfort, Nor hand to help was there. When the meek and lowly, Humbly bowed in prayer. 3 Abba, Father, Father! If indeed it may, Let this cup of anguish, Pass from me, I pray. Yet, if it must be suffered, By me, thine only Son, Abba, Father, Father, Let thy will be done. 164 P. M. Gethsemane. Beyond where Cedron’s waters flow, Behold the suffering Saviour go To sad Gethsemane; His countenance is all divine, Yet grief appears in every line. 2 He bows beneath the sins of men; He cries to God, and cries again, In sad Gethsemane: He lifts his mournful eyes above— “My Father, can this cup remove?” 3 With gentle resignation still, He yielded to his Father’s will In sad Gethsemane; “Behold me here, thine only Son; And, Father, let thy will be done.” 4 The Father heard; and angels, there, Sustained the Son of God in prayer, In sad Gethsemane: He drank the dreadful cup of pain— Then rose to life and joy again. 5 When storms of sorrow round us sweep, And scenes of anguish make us weep, To sad Gethsemane We’ll look, and see the Saviour there, And humbly bow, like him, in prayer. 165 C. H. M. Agony in the garden. He knelt; the Saviour knelt and prayed, When but his Father’s eye Looked, through the lonely garden shade, On that dread agony; The Lord of high and heavenly birth Was bowed 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. 3 He knew them all—the doubt, the strife, The faint, perplexing dread; The mists that hang o’er parting life All darkened round his head; And the Deliverer knelt to pray; Yet passed it not, that cup, away. 4 It passed not, though the stormy wave Had sunk beneath his tread; It passed not, though to him the grave Had yielded up its dead; But there was sent him, from on high, A gift of strength, for man to die.