Dark was the night, and cold the ground
On which the Lord was laid
His sweat like drops of blood ran down
And in agony he prayed
"Oh Father, oh, remove this bitter cup
If only such thy will
And if not, content I will drink it up
Oh, thy pleasure to fulfill"
Go to the garden, sinner, see
Those precious drops that flow
The heavy load He bore for thee
For thee he lies so low
