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1 Thou sweet gliding Kedron, by thy silver streams
Our Saviour at midnight, when moonlight's pale beams
Shone bright on the waters, would frequently stray,
And lose in thy murmurs the toils of the day.
2 How damp were the vapors that fell on His head!
How hard was His pillow! how humble His bed!
The angels, astonished, grew sad at the sight,
And followed their Master with solemn delight.
3 O garden of Olivet, thou dear honored spot,
The fame of thy wonder shall ne'er be forgot;
The theme most transporting to seraphs above;
The triumph of sorrow--the triumph of love.
4 Come, saints and adore Him; come, bow at His feet!
Oh, give Him the glory, the praise that is meet;
Let joyful hosannas unceasingly arise,
And join the full chorus that gladdens the skies.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | Thou sweet gliding Kedron, by thy silver streams |
Meter: | 10s. |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1867 |
Topic: | God the Son: Praise to the Redeemer |