O may the wounds of thy dear Son
Our contrite hearts possess alone,
And all terrene affections drown.
Those wounds, which now the stars outshine,
Those furnaces of love divine.
May they our drossy souls refine;
And on us such impressions make,
That we of suffering for his sake,
May joyfully our portion take.
Let us his proper badge put on,
Let's glory in the cross alone,
By which he marks us for his own.
That when the dreadful trial's come,
For every man to hear his doom,
On his right hand we may find room.
O hear us Mary, Jesus hear!
Our humble pray'rs secure our fear,
When thou in judgment shalt appear.
Now give us sorrow, give us love,
That so prepared, we may remove,
When call'd to seats Of bliss above. Amen.
V. The sword of sorrow has pierced thy soul.
R. That out of many hearts cogitations may be revealed.
LET US PRAY.
WE beseech thee O Lord Jesus Christ! that the blessed Virgin Mary may effectually intercede for us with thy clemency, both now, and at the hour of our death. She, who at the hour of thy passion, had her most holy soul run through with the sword of sorrow; who lives and reignest with the Father, and the Holy Ghost, one God, world without end. Amen.
