Attolle paullum lumina

Raise, raise thine eyes a little way,
O sinful man discerning
Thy sins, how great and foul are they,
And to repentance turning :
On the Crucified One look, —
Thou shalt read as in a book,
What well is worth thy learning.

Look on the Head, with such a Crown
Of bitter thorns surrounded ;
Look on the Blood that trickles down
The Feet and Hands thus wounded !
Let that frame thy tears engage,
Marking how Judaea's rage
And malice hath abounded.

But though upon Him many a smart
Its bitterness expendeth,
Yet more, — oh how much more ! — His Heart
Man's thankless spirit rendeth !
On the Cross, bewailed by none,
Mark, O man, how Mary's Son
His life of sorrow endeth.

None ever bare such grief, alas,
None ever such affliction,
As when Judaea brought to pass
His bitter crucifixion :
He, that we might dwell on high,
Bare the pangs that made Him die
In oft-renewed infliction.

O therefore Satan's wiles repel,
And yield not to temptation !
Think on the woes that Christ befell
In working thy salvation !
For, if He had never died,
What could thee and all betide
But uttermost damnation ?

If thus He bled, that Only Son
The Father held so dearly,
Thou wicked servant, faithless one,
O how much more severely !
If the green wood kindled, how
Shall not every sapless bough
Consume as fuel merely !

O mortal ! heed these terrors well !
O sinner, flee from sinning !
Consider thou the woes of hell,
Ne'er ending, still beginning :
Render thanks to Christ on high :
Thus with Him beyond the sky
Eternal glory winning. Amen.