Stabat Mater

O how sad and sore distressed
Now was she, that mother blessed
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 chastised,
She beheld her Son despised,
Scourged and crowned with thorns entwined;
Saw him then from judgement taken,
And in death by all forsaken,
Till his spirit he resigned.