Dark was the night, and cold the ground,
On which the Lord was laid;
His sweat, like drops of blood, ran down:
In agony He prayed.
“Father, remove this bitter cup,
If such Thy sacred will;
If not, content to drink it up,
Thy pleasure I fulfill.”
Go to the garden, sinner; seeThomas Haweis
Those precious drops that flow:
The heavy load He bore for thee;
for thee He lies so low.
Copied from my grandmother’s hymnal, Hymn Book, Methodist Episcopal Church, South: Nashville, TN, 1901, Hymn #84.
Note: The hymns in this hymnal are not titled. So when I do not know the hymn, I make up a title or simply use the first line.
Photo taken in Milton, FL, 2018