Thy will be done, the Saviour said
And bowed to earth his sacred head
The sands of life had nearly run
My Father, let thy will be done
Thy will, not mine, be done
No watch his spent disciples kept
Amid the shadows deep they slept;
But silent angels waiting there
Beheld his agony of prayer -
Thy will, not mine, be done
His soul foresaw the cruel scorns
The brutal scourge, the crown of thorns
And, darker than Gethsemane
The shadows of th' accursed tree -
Thy will, not mine, be done
What though he felt in that dread hour
The storms of human passions low'r;
Nor pain, nor death, his soul would shun
My Father, let thy will be done
Thy will, not mine, be done