1 Over Cedron Jesus treadeth
To his passion for us all;
Every human eye be weeping,
Tears of blood for Him let fall!
Round His spirit flock the foes,
Place their shafts and bend their bows,
Aiming at the Saviour solely,
While the world forsakes Him wholly.
2 David once, with heart afflicted,
Crossed the Cedron's narrow strand,
Clouds of gloom and grief about him
When an exile from his land.
But, O Jesus! blacker now
Bends the cloud above Thy brow,
Hasting to death's dreary portals
For the shame and sin of mortals.
3 See! how, anguish-struck, He falleth
Prostrate, and with struggling breath
Three times on His God He calleth,
Praying that the bitter death
And the cup of doom may go,
Till, replacing inward woe,
Angel-comforts round Hi gather--
"Not My will, but Thine, O Father!"
4 See! how in that hour of darkness,
Battling with the evil power,
Agonies untold assail Him,
On His soul the arrows shower;
All the garden-flowers are wet
With the drops of bloody sweat,
From His anguished frame distilling--
World's redemption thus fulfilling.
5 But, O flowers, so sadly watered
By this pure and precious dew,
In some blessed hour your blossoms
'Neath the olive-shadows grew!
Paradise's gardens bear
Naught that can with you compare,
For the blood thus sprinkled o'er ye
Makes my soul the heir of glory.
6 When as flowers themselves I wither,
When I droop and fade life grass,
When the life-streams through my pulses
Dull and ever duller pass,
When at last they cease to roll,
Then, to cheer my singing soul,
Grace of Jesus, be Thou given--
Source of triumph! Pledge of heaven!
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