Over Kedron Jesus passes
Ready for His passion day,
While the Prince of Darkness masses
All his legions for the fray.
Wily foes with evil hearts
Bend their bows and point their darts,
Aiming at the Savior solely,
As the world forsakes Him wholly.

David once in great affliction
Crossed the Kedron’s narrow stream,
While his foes without restriction
Hatched their vile and cunning scheme.
Darker far the shadows now
Bend about the Savior’s brow
As He hastens to His passion
For the sinful world’s salvation.

See Him, torn by woe appalling,
Kneeling in the garden still,
And upon His Father calling
That, if possible, He will
Take the bitter cup away.
But how meekly He doth pray!
What the Father shall Him offer,
He obediently will suffer.

See, what agony assails Him
In that dark and fearful hour;
Every friend deserts or fails Him;
Satan strikes with all his power;
And the flowers beneath Him grow
Crimson with the purple flow
From His anguished frame distilling
As His cup of woe is filling.

But, O flower, whose tender blossom
Caught that precious, purple dew
From the Saviour’s riven bosom,
In a blessed hour you grew!
Eden’s flowers did not bear
Fruits that could with yours compare:
By the blood your petals staining,
I am now salvation gaining.

When I like the flower must wither,
When I wilt and fade like grass,
When the hour of death draws hither,
When I from this world shall pass,
When my heart has ceased to beat
When I face God’s judgment seat,
Then His blood, which stained the garden,
Shall procure my lasting pardon.