Page:The seven great hymns of the mediaeval church - 1902.djvu/142

112

Who could witnes without weeping

Such a flood of orrow weeping

O'er the tricken mother's breat?

Who contemplate without being

Moved to kindred grief by feeing

Son and mother thus oppreed?

For our fins me aw Him bending

And the cruel lah decending

On His body tripped and bare;

Saw her own dear Jeus dying,

Heard His pirit's lat out-crying

Sharp with anguih and depair.

Gentle Mother, love's pure fountain!

Cat, oh! cat on me the mountain

Of thy grief that I may weep;

Let my heart with ardor burning,

Chrit's unbounded love returning,

His rich favor win and keep.