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 Who can with  tearless  eyes look on When  such  a  Mother,  such  a  Son, Wounded and  gasping  does  bemoan.

O worse  than  Jewish  heart,  that  could, Unmoved, behold  the  double  flood, Of Mary's  tears,  and  Jesu's  blood.

Alas! our sins, they  were  not In this  atoning  sacrifice, For which  he  bleeds,  for  which  he  dies.

When graves  were  open'd,  rocks  were  rent, When nature  and  each  element His torments  and  her  grief  resent:

Shall man,  the  cause  of  all  his  pain, And all  his  grief,  shall  sinful  man Alone insensible  remain?

Ah, pious  mother,  teach  my  heart, Of sighs  and  tears  the  holy  art, And in  thy  grief  to  bear  a  part.

The sword  of  grief,  which  did  pass  through Thy very  soul,  O  may  it  now Upon my  heart  a  wound  bestow.

Great Queen  of  Sorrows,  in  thy  train, Let me  a  mourner's  place  obtain, With tears  to  cleanse  all  sinful  stain.

To heal  the  leprosy  of  sin, We must  the  cure  with  tears  begin, All flesh's  corrupt  without  their brine

Refuge of  sinners,  grant  that  we May  tread  thy  steps,  and  let  it  be Our  sorrow  not  to  grieve  like  thee.