O quot undis lachrymarum

What a sea of tears and sorrow
Did the soul of Mary toss
To and fro upon its billows.
While she wept her bitter loss;
In her arms her Jesus holding,
Torn but newly from the Cross!

O that mournful Virgin Mother!
See her tears how fast they flow
Down upon his mangled body.
Wounded side, and thorny brow;
While his hands and feet she kisses,—
Picture of immortal woe!

Oft and oft his arms and bosom
Fondly straining to her own;
Oft her pallid lips imprinting
On each wound of her dear Son;
Till at last, in swoons of anguish.
Sense and consciousness are gone.

Gentle Mother, we beseech thee,
By thy tears and trouble sore;
By the death of thy dear Offspring;
By the bloody wounds He bore;
Touch our hearts with that true sorrow
Which afflicted thee of yore.

To the Father everlasting,
And the Son, who reigns on high,
With the coetemal Spirit,
Trinity in Unity,
Be salvation, honour, blessing.
Now and through eternity.