Who can with tearless eyes look on
When such a Mother, such a Son,
Wounded and gasping does bemoan.
O worse than Jewish heart, that could,
Unmoved, behold the double flood,
Of Mary's tears, and Jesu's blood.
Alas! our sins, they were not
In this atoning sacrifice,
For which he bleeds, for which he dies.
When graves were open'd, rocks were rent,
When nature and each element
His torments and her grief resent:
Shall man, the cause of all his pain,
And all his grief, shall sinful man
Alone insensible remain?
Ah, pious mother, teach my heart,
Of sighs and tears the holy art,
And in thy grief to bear a part.
The sword of grief, which did pass through
Thy very soul, O may it now
Upon my heart a wound bestow.
Great Queen of Sorrows, in thy train,
Let me a mourner's place obtain,
With tears to cleanse all sinful stain.
To heal the leprosy of sin,
We must the cure with tears begin,
All flesh's corrupt without their brine
Refuge of sinners, grant that we
May tread thy steps, and let it be
Our sorrow not to grieve like thee.
