Stabat mater dolorosa

At the Cross her station keeping
Stood the mournful Mother weeping.
Close to Jesus to the last:
Through her heart, his sorrow sharing,
All his bitter anguish bearing.
Now at length the sword had pass’d.

Oh, how sad and sore distress’d
Was that Mother highly blest
Of the sole-begotten One!
Christ above in torment hangs;
She beneath beholds the pangs
Of her dying glorious Son.

Is there one who would not weep,
Whelm’d in miseries so deep
Christ’s dear Mother to behold?
Can the human heart refrain
From partaking in her pain,
In that Mother’s pain untold?

Bruis’d, derided, curs’d, defil’d.
She beheld her tender Child
All with bloody scourges rent;
For the sins of his own nation.
Saw Him hang in desolation.
Till his Spirit forth He sent.

O thou Mother! fount of love!
Touch my spirit from above.
Make my heart with thine accord:
Make me feel as thou hast felt;
Make my soul to glow and melt
With the love of Christ my Lord.