My Jesus, I would ne’er forget,
That hour I spent with Thee;
When there I saw Thy bloody sweat
In dark Gethsemane.

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I’ll ne’er forget, I’ll ne’er forget,
I’ll ne’er forgetful be,
When there I saw Thy bloody sweat
In dark Gethsemane.

’Twas in that olive grove I felt
That Thou hadst died for me;
Alas, how great I saw my guilt
While in Gethsemane.

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I thought of how Thy heart did throb,
While “all” Thine own did flee,
And left Thee with the cruel mob,
In sad Gethsemane.

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’Twas there I felt my grief and shame
In oft forsaking Thee,
How precious was Thy very Name
In dear Gethsemane.

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Should e’er our love to Thee grow cold,
And we forgetful be,
We’ll call to mind Thy love untold
While in Gethsemane.

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