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W. Garrett Horder, comp. The Poets’ Bible: New Testament. 1895.

Hymn of the Last Supper

John Pierpont (1785–1866)

‘And when they had sung a hymn they went out into the Mount of Olives.”—MATT. XXVI. 30.

THE WINDS are hushed; the peaceful moon

Looks down on Zion’s hill;

The city sleeps; ’tis night’s calm noon,

And all the streets are still.

Save when, along the shaded walks,

We hear the watchman’s call,

Or the guard’s footsteps, as he stalks

In moonlight on the wall.

How soft, how holy, is this light!

And hark! a mournful song,

As gentle as these dews of night,

Floats on the air along.

Affection’s wish, devotion’s prayer,

Are in that holy strain;

’Tis resignation, not despair,

’Tis triumph, though ’tis pain.

’Tis Jesus and his faithful few

That pour that hymn of love.

O God! may we the song renew

Around thy board above!