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 sweet Mother! Font of love, touch my spirit from above, make my heart with yours accord.
Make me feel as you have 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 you his pain, who for all our sins was slain, who for me in torments died.
Let me mingle tears with you, mourning him who mourned for me, all the days that I may live.
By the cross with you to stay, there with you to weep and pray, is all I ask of you to give.
Virgin of all virgins blest! Listen to my fond request: let me share your grief divine.
Let me to my latest breath, in my body bear the death of that dying Son of yours.
Wounded with his every wound, steep my soul till it has 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 you shall call me hence, be your Mother my defense, be your cross my victory.
While my body here decays, may my soul your goodness praise, safe in heaven eternally. Amen.

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