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 which thou didst fill the house, and how thou didst cry: O Jesus, my Son Jesus, who will grant me that I might die for thee, O Jesus, my Son, my Son! By that keenest sword of sorrow I beseech thee, O Mary, in my last hour, when my heart shall quake with anguish and the dread of death, do thou deign to cheer me with thy most holy presence, lest I sink in the abyss of despair. Amen.

Most sad Virgin Mary, I recall to thy mind now that sword of sorrow which pierced thy heart, when thou didst behold thy Son led forth by Pilate, his sacred Body torn and bleeding, his Head crowned with thorns, defiled with spittings, so that there was no beauty in him, nor comeliness. Remember, O Mother most sad, how thy heart was torn when thou didst hear the Jews exclaim: Away with him, away with him! crucify him! Remember that keenest wound which was dealt upon thy heart when thou didst hear the sentence of an accursed death pronounced by Pilate. Remember all the compassion and the grief which wrung thy Mother's heart when thou didst see thy Son laden with his heavy cross, and led forth with direst ignominy to the hill of Calvary. Oh, who shall count thy sighs and tears, who shall tell the sorrows of thy most afflicted heart! I compassionate thee,