1 At the cross, her vigil keeping,
stood the mournful Mother weeping,
where he hung, the dying Lord;
for her soul, of joy bereavèd,
bowed with sorrow, deeply grievèd,
felt the sharp and piercing sword.

2 Who, on Christ's dear Mother gazing,
pierced with 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?

3 For his people's sins chastisèd
she beheld her Son despisèd
scourged, and crowned with thorns entwined;
saw him then from judgment taken,
and in death by all forsaken,
till his spirit he resigned.

4 Jesus, may her deep devotion
stir in me the same emotion,
fount of love, Redeemer kind,
that my heart, fresh ardour gaining,
and a purer love attaining,
may with thee acceptance find.