39 And going forward a little he fell upon his face, praying and saying, My Father, if it be possible let this cup pass from me; but not as *I* will, but as *thou* [wilt].
Yet onward still to go,
On to the cross;
Drink deep that cup of woe,
Of grief and loss.
All from Thee then did flee,
And on th'accurdèd tree
God his His face from Thee,
Truly alone!