The sun had set on Syria's plain
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The sun had set on Syria's plain,The night had bloomed with stars again,When, as his fateful hour drew nigh,The Saviour knew that he must die.
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As still drew nigh that hour of dread,Wait his disciples pale and sad,When he, with love's compassion sweet,Knelt lowly down and washed their feet.
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Draw near to us, O Lord, we pray;We follow in thy steps to-day;Here with thy saints 't is joy to meet,And bow, and humbly wash their feet.
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O thou bright King, within whose handThe ages glide like grains of sand,Now hear us pray that we may beAll lowly, meek, and pure, like thee.
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And when that glorious morn shall break,And at thy voice each sleeper wake,Remember us, O Lord, we pray;Roll from our grave the stone away!