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a sea of bitter sorrows Did the soul of Mary toss; To and fro upon its billows, While she wept her bitter loss, In her arms her Jesus holding, Torn but newly from the Cross!

O that mournful Virgin Mother! See her tears how fast they flow Down upon His mangled body Wounded side, and thorny brow; While His hands and feet she kisses— Picture of immortal woe!

Oft and oft His arms and bosom Fondly straining to her own; Oft her pallid lips imprinting On each wound of her dear Son; Till at last in swoons of anguish, Sense and consciousness are gone.

Gentle Mother, we beseech thee, By thy tears and troubles sore; By the death of thy dear Offspring; By the bloody wounds He bore; Touch our hearts with that true sorrow Which afflicted thee of yore

To the Father everlasting, And the Son, who reigns on high, With the coëternal Spirit, Trinity in Unity, Be salvation, honour, blessing, Now and through eternity.

