10 April 2009

Stabat Mater

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.

O 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 chastised,
she beheld her Son despised,
scourged, and crowned with thorns entwined;
saw him then from judgment taken,
and in death by all forsaken,
till his spirit he resigned.

O good Jesus, let me borrow
something of thy Mother's sorrow,
Fount of love, Redeemer kind;
that my heart fresh ardor gaining,
and a purer love attaining,
may with thee acceptance find.