'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. '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. '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.ṣlạẗ من الأعماق ياربي mʿny̱ ạlḥb غيرك إنت مين Salmo 143 ʿmry mạ hạfsẖl Korkmam Suna harfa laudei mele Wszystkie nasze dzienne sprawy ᠶᠡᠬᠡ ᠡᠵᠡᠨ ᠢ ᠮᠠᠭᠲᠠᠨ ᠳᠠᠭᠤᠯᠠᠶᠠ
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