|99 - Down in the garden|
Hushed by the shadows dark and drear,
The feathered songsters rest;
All earth in slumber doth appear,
But Christ, earth's heav'nly Guest.
Down in the garden hear the mournful sound,|
There in the darkness on the dewy ground,
While the watchers they were sleeping,
Was Jesus praying, weeping,
Was Jesus praying, weeping.
With nature's mantle, night's dark pall,|
Beneath those garden trees,
He wrestled nobly for us all,
From sin, man to release.
Sin's loathsome weight He bore in sweat,|
That oozed in bloody flow;
Ignoble shame was His, and yet
He meekly suffered so.
For sinful mortals, rich and poor,|
He fought hell's legions fierce;
Abased, He won the vict'ry sure,
Though pangs His soul did pierce.