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Hymn/Song Information

Come all ye chosen of saints of God That long to




Come all ye chosen of saints of God,
That long to feel the cleansing blood,
In pensive pleasure join with me,
To sing of sad Gethsemane.


Gethsemane, the olive-press;
(And why so call’d let Christians guess)
Fit name, fit place, where vengeance strove,
And grip’d and grappled hard with love.


Mysterious conflict! dark disguise
Hid from all creatures’ piercing eyes;
Angels astonish’d view the scene,
And wonder yet, what all could mean.


In Eden’s garden there was food,
Of ev’ry kind for man while good;
But banish’d thence, we fly to thee
Oh garden of Gethsemane!

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LYRICS
Meter: 8 8 8 8 (L.M.)
Writer(s):
    Trans/Adapted:
      Dates:
      Bible Refs:
      LIST OF LYRIC SOURCES
      Hymn/Song Book Year Song #
      2005# 151
      MUSIC
      Name: TRURO
      Meter: 8 8 8 8 (L.M.)
      Writer(s):
        Dates: 1789
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