I'm sure if he had, that little black dog
Knew right from the first He was God
That he needed no proofs that Christ was divine
But just worshiped the ground that he trod

I'm afraid that he hadn't because I have read
How he prayed in the garden alone
For all of his friends and disciples had fled
Even Peter, the one called a stone

And oh, I'm sure that that little black dog
With a heart so tender and warm
Would never have left him to suffer alone
But creeping right under his arm
Would have licked those dear fingers in agony clasped
When they took him away would have trotted behind
And followed him quite to the cross