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.

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.

Jesus, may her 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.

True repentance, Jesus, win me:

Savior print thy wounds within me.

Brand them on my stubborn heart.

As Thou bought'st, through tribulation,

In thy passion, my salvation,

Let me bear therein my part.

Let me mourn, O Lord, beside Thee

For the sins which crucified Thee,

While my life remains in me.

Take beneath the cross my station.

And in all thy desolation.

So unite myself to Thee.

Jesus, great beyond all other,

Turn not from me, heav'nly brother,

Let me too bewail thy pain.

Let my soul, thy death declaring,

Thy unsparing passion sharing,

Count thy bruises one be one.

Let thy stripes and scourging smite me;

At thy holy Cross requite me,

Let thy blood refresh me there.

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 everglorious Son.

Note: We sing this great hymn during Lent on Thursday evenings as we contemplate the way of the Cross.