1 I stood in the garden of Gethsemane,
Whose ages-old olive trees whispered to me;
When One I saw enter its shadows alone,
And heard His heart-broken appeal to the throne.
‘Twas Jesus of Nazareth, Master divine!
My blessed Redeemer, my Savior and thine!
Neglected, deserted, forgotten, in shame,
Alone to the garden at midnight He came.
2 He prayed in the silence that hallowed the place,
And lo! drops of blood kissed His agonized face!
“Not my will, but Thine be done!” Who could it be,
In sorrow and grief interceding for me? [Refrain]
3 Again on the cross where He suffered and died,
Blasphemed by the rabble, deserted, denied;
I hear Him still praying, and know it was I
For whom He, my Lord, condescended to die! [Refrain]