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 In thy grief had we followed thee, in thy passion loved, Loved in thy loss; In thy shame we stood fast to thee, with thy pangs were moved, Clung to thy cross.

By the hillside of Calvary we beheld thy blood, Thy bloodred tears, As a mother's in bitterness, an unebbing flood, Years upon years.

And the north was Gethsemane, without leaf or bloom, A garden sealed; And the south was Aceldama, for a sanguine fume Hid all the field.

By the stone of the sepulchre we returned to weep, From far, from prison; And the guards by it keeping it we beheld asleep, But thou wast risen.

And an angel's similitude by the unsealed grave, And by the stone: And the voice was angelical, to whose words God gave Strength like his own.