The eventide falls gently now,
By Kedron’s side, o’er Olive’s brow,
And through the gloom methinks I see
A lonely form in prayer for me.
The gentle tone through stately trees,
Is borne upon the murm’ring breeze,
He bowed His head—God’s only Son—
And meekly said, “Thy will be done.”
It looks like you are using an ad-blocker. Ad revenue helps keep us running.
Please consider white-listing Hymnary.org or getting Hymnary Pro
to eliminate ads entirely and help support Hymnary.org.