Sabat Mater

 

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 passed.

 

Oh, how sad and sore distressed

Was that Mother highly blessed

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

Whelmed 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?

 

Bruised, derided, cursed, defiled,

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.

 

Holy Mother pierce - me through.

In my heart each wound renew

Of my Savior crucified.

 

Let me share with thee His pain,

Who for all our sins was slain,

Who for me in torments died.

 

Let me mingle tears with thee.

Mourning Him Who mourned for me,

All the days that I may live.

 

By the cross with thee to stay,

There with thee to weep and pray,

Is all I ask of thee to give.

 

Virgin of all virgins best

Listen to my fond request:

Let me share thy grief divine;

 

Let me, to my latest breath,

In my body hear the death

Of that dying Son of thine.

 

Wounded with His every wound,

Steep my soul till it hath swooned

In His very blood away;

 

Be to me, O Virgin, nigh,

Lest in flames I burn and die,

In His awful judgment day.

 

Christ, when Thou shalt call me hence,

Be Thy Mother my defense,

Be Thy cross my victory;

 

While my body here decays

May my soul Thy goodness praise,

Safe in paradise with Thee.

 

Amen.

 

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