Page:The seven great hymns of the mediaeval church - 1902.djvu/133

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Y the Cros, ad vigil keeping,

Stood the mournful mother weeping,

While on it the Saviour hung;

In that hour of deep ditres,

Pierced the word of bitternes

Through her heart with orrow wrung.

Oh! how fad, how woe-begone

Was that ever-bleed one,

Mother of the Son of God!

Oh! what bitter tears he hed

Whilt before her bled

'Neath the Father's penal rod!