The Marksmen Quartet - Neath the old olive trees

‘Neath the ^Astars of the night Walked the Sa^Dvior of li^Aght, In the gar^Eden of dew-ladened bre^Aeze; Where no li^Aght could be found, Jesus kn^Gelt on the gr^Bmound, There He pr^Aayed ‘neath the^E old olive t^Arees.

‘^ANeath the old olive ^Etrees, ‘Neath the ^E7old olive ^Atrees, Went the Sav^Bior alo^B7ne on His kn^Eees: Not My wi^All, Thine be done, Cried the Fat^Gher’s own^Bm Son, As He kn^Aelt ‘neath the^E old olive t^Arees.

All the si^An of the world On the Sav^Dior was hur^Aled, As He kn^Eelt in the garden al^Aone; Hear His s^Aoul-burdened plea, Let this c^Gup pass from ^BmMe, Even s^Ao, not My wi^Ell, Thine be d^Aone.

‘^ANeath the old olive ^Etrees, ‘Neath the ^E7old olive ^Atrees, Went the Sav^Bior alo^B7ne on His kn^Eees: Not My wi^All, Thine be done, Cried the Fat^Gher’s own^Bm Son, As He kn^Aelt ‘neath the^E old olive t^Arees.

May my so^Ang ever be Of the lo^Dve proffered m^Ae, By my Lo^Erd all alone on His k^Anees: Praise His ^Awonderful name, He who b^Gore all my b^Bmlame, From the ga^Arden to da^Erk Calva^Ary

‘^ANeath the old olive ^Etrees, ‘Neath the ^E7old olive ^Atrees, Went the Sav^Bior alo^B7ne on His kn^Eees: Not My wi^All, Thine be done, Cried the Fat^Gher’s own^Bm Son, As He kn^Aelt ‘neath the^E old olive t^Arees.