1 At the Cross, her station keeping,
Stood the mournful mother weeping,
Where he hung, the dying Lord;
For her soul, of joy bereaved,
Bowed with anguish, deeply grieved,
Felt the sharp and piercing sword.

2 O, how sad and sore distressed
Now was she, that mother blessed
Of the sole-begotten One.
Deep the woe of her affliction,
When she saw the crucifixion
Of her ever-glorious Son. A-men.

3 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?

4 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.

5 Jesus, may her deep devotion
Stir in me the same emotion,
Fount of love, Redeemer kind,
That my heart, fresh ardor gaining
And a purer love attaining,
May with thee acceptance find.

Amen.