'Tis Midnight and On Olive's Brow

1 'Tis midnight, and on Olive's brow The star is dimmed that lately shone; 'Tis midnight, in the garden now The suff'ring Savior prays alone.

2 'Tis midnight, and from all removed Immanuel wrestles, lone, with fears; E'en the disciple whom He loved Heeds not his Master's grief and tears.

3 'Tis midnight, from the heav'nly plains Are borne the songs that angels know; Unheard by mortals are the strains That sweetly soothe the Savior's woe.