At the cross her station keeping,
Stood the mournful mother weeping,
Where He hung, the dying Lord;
For her soul, of joy bereaved,
Bowed with anguish, deeply grieved.
Felt the sharp and piercing sword.
Oh, how sad and sore distressed
Now was she, that mother blessed
Of the Sole-begotten One;
Deep the woe of her affliction
When she saw the Crucifixion
Of her ever-glorious Son.
Who on Christ’s dear mother gazing,
Pierced by anguish so amazing,
Born of woman, would not weep?
Who on Christ’s dear mother thinking,
Such a cup of sorrow drinking,
Would not share her sorrows deep?
For His people’s sins chastiséd,
She beheld her Son despiséd,
Scourged, and crowned with thorns entwined;
Saw Him then from judgment taken,
And in death by all forsaken,
Till His spirit He resigned.
Jesu, may such deep devotion
Stir in me the same emotion,
Fount of love, Redeemer kind,
That my heart, fresh ardor gaining
And a purer love attaining.
May with Thee acceptance find!