At the cross, her station keeping,
Stood the mournful mother weeping,
Where He hung, the dying Lord;
For her soul of joy bereavèd,
Bowed with anguish, deeply grievèd,
Felt the sharp and piercing sword.

Oh, how sad and sore distressèd
Now was she, that mother blessèd
Of the sole begotten One;
Deep the woe of her affliction,
When she saw the crucifixion
Of her ever glorious Son.

Who, on Christ’s dear mother gazing
Pierced by anguish so amazing
Born of woman, would not weep?
Who, on Christ’s dear mother thinking
Such a cup of sorrow drinking
Would not share her sorrows deep?

For His people’s sins chastisèd,
She beheld her Son despisèd,
Scourged, and crowned with thorns entwined;
Saw Him then from judgment taken,
And in death by all forsaken,
Till His Spirit He resigned.

Jesu, may her deep devotion
Stir in me the same emotion,
Fount of love, Redeemer kind,
That my heart fresh ardor gaining,
And a purer love attaining,
May with Thee acceptance find.

Near the cross, her vigil keeping,
Stood the mother, worn with weeping,
Where He hung, the dying Lord;
Through her soul, in anguish groaning,
Bowed in sorrow, sighing, moaning,
Passed the sharp and piercing sword.

O the weight of her affliction!
Hers, who won God’s benediction,
Hers, who bore God’s Holy One:
O that speechless, ceaseless yearning!
O those dim eyes never turning
From her wondrous, suffering Son!

Who upon that mother gazing,
In her trouble so amazing,
Born of woman, would not weep?
Who of Christ’s dear mother thinking,
While her Son that cup is drinking,
Would not share her sorrow deep?

For His people’s sin chastisèd
She beheld her Son despisèd,
Bound and bleeding ’neath the rod;
Saw the Lord’s Anointed taken,
Dying desolate, forsaken,
Heard Him yield His soul to God.

Near Thy cross, O Christ, abiding,
Grief and love my heart dividing,
I with her would take my place;
By Thy guardian cross uphold me,
In Thy dying, Christ, enfold me
With the deathless arms of grace.

Near the cross was Mary weeping,
There her mournful station keeping,
Gazing on her dying Son;
There in speechless anguish groaning,
Yearning, trembling, sighing, moaning,
Through her soul the sword had gone.

When no eye its pity gave us,
When there was no arm to save us,
He His love and power displayed:
By His stripes He wrought our healing,
By His death, our life revealing,
He for us the ransom paid.

Jesus, may Thy love constrain us,
That from sin we may refrain us,
In Thy griefs may deeply grieve;
Thee our best affections giving,
To Thy glory ever living,
May we in Thy glory live.