Night, with Ebon Pinion

Night, with ebon pinion,
Brooded o’er the vale;
All around was silent,
Save the night-wind’s wail,
When Christ, the Man of sorrows,
In tears and sweat and blood,
Prostrate in the garden,
Raised His voice to God.

Smitten for offenses
Which were not His own,
He, for our transgressions,
Had to weep alone;
No friend with word to comfort,
Nor hand to help was there,
When the Meek and Lowly
Humbly bowed in pray'r.

"Abba, Father, Father,
If indeed it may,
Let this cup of anguish
Pass from me, I pray;
Yet, if it must be suffer'd,
By me, Thine only Son,
Abba, Father, Father,
Let Thy will be done."