Prayers
Stabat Mater
At the Cross her station keeping, * stood the mournful Mother weeping, * close to Jesus to the last.
Through her heart, His sorrow sharing, * all His bitter anguish bearing, * now at length the sword has passed.
O how sad and sore distressed * was that Mother, highly blest, * of the sole-begotten One.
Christ above in torment hangs, * she beneath beholds the pangs * of her dying glorious Son.
Is there one who would not weep, * ‘whelmed in miseries so deep, * Christ's dear Mother to behold?
By the Cross with thee to stay, * there with thee to weep and pray, * is all I ask of thee to give.
For the sins of His own nation, * She saw Jesus wracked with torment, * All with scourges rent:
She beheld her tender Child, * Saw Him hang in desolation, * Till His spirit forth He sent.
Can the human heart refrain * from partaking in her pain, * in that Mother's pain untold?
O thou Mother! fount of love! * Touch my spirit from above, * make my heart with thine accord:
Make me feel as thou hast felt; * make my soul to glow and melt * with the love of Christ my Lord.
Holy Mother! pierce me through, * in my heart each wound renew * of my Savior crucified:
Let me share with thee His pain, * who for all my sins was slain, * who for me in torments died.
Let me mingle tears with thee, * mourning Him who mourned for me, * all the days that I may live:
Let me, to my latest breath, * in my body bear the death * of that dying Son of thine.
Virgin of all virgins blest!, * listen to my fond request: * let me share thy grief divine;
Wounded with His every wound, * steep my soul till it hath swooned, * in His very Blood away;
Be to me, O Virgin, nigh, * lest in flames I burn and die, * in His awful Judgment Day.
Christ, when Thou shalt call me hence, * be Thy Mother my defense, * be Thy Cross my victory;
When my body here decays, * may my soul your goodness praise * safe in heaven eternally. Amen.
