Christ went up into the hills alone
Walking slowly the winding way,
Far from the city’s dust and stone,
Up to the lonely hills to pray.

There was no one to go with Him
On His lonely walk in the silent night.
Only the hush of the starshine dim,
Only the shadowed hill-road white,

Only the lambs calling each to each,
And the tender goodnight of dreaming birds.
Only a love too pure for speech,
And a grief too deep for words.