Glory of the Christian nations,
Ready help in trouble's hour.
Though the gates of Hell against us,
With profoundest fury rage;
Though the ancient foe assault us,
And his fiercest battle wage.
Nought can hurt the pure in spirit,
Who upon thine aid rely;
At thy hand secure of gaining
Strength and mercy from on high
Through the everlasting ages,
Blessed Trinity, to Thee,
Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,
Praise and endless glory be
53. Stabat 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 hearing,
Now at length the sword had pass'd.
Oh, how sad and sore distress'd
Was that Mother, highly blest
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?
