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112
The Stabat Mater
3.
Who could witneſs without weeping
Such a flood of ſorrow ſweeping
O'er the ſtricken mother's breaſt?
Who contemplate without being
Moved to kindred grief by feeing
Son and mother thus oppreſſed?
4.
For our fins me ſaw Him bending
And the cruel laſh deſcending
On His body ſtripped and bare;
Saw her own dear Jeſus dying,
Heard His ſpirit's laſt out-crying
Sharp with anguiſh and deſpair.
5.
Gentle Mother, love's pure fountain!
Caſt, oh! caſt on me the mountain
Of thy grief that I may weep;
Let my heart with ardor burning,
Chriſt's unbounded love returning,
His rich favor win and keep.
