1 "Father divine!" the Saviour cried, While horrors pressed on every side, And prostrate on the ground he lay, "Remove this bitter cup away.
2 "But if these pangs must still be borne, Or helpless man be left forlorn, I bow my soul before thy throne, And say, -- Thy will, not mine, be done!"
3 Thus our submissive souls would bow, And, taught by Jesus, lie as low; Our hearts, and not our lips alone, Would say, -- Thy will, not ours, be done!