Stabat Mater

In the shadow of the rood,
Broken-hearted there she stood
Near her Son and Lord:
While her soul, His doom lamenting,
Yet in sacrifice consenting
Felt the cleaving sword.

Came there ever to another
Grief like thine, O wounded Mother,
As thou looked'st upon
Him, the Son of God, all holy,
And of thee, a Virgin lowly,
Sole-begotten Son?

Who so lost of human feeling
As to hide his tears revealing
Sympathy with thine?
Who that e'er was born of woman,
In a tenderness so human
Sees not love Divine?

To the lash, for sin atoning,
Lo! He bows! and thou, O moaning
Mother, now must see
Limb from limb His spirit languish
And His latest look of anguish
Turned in love to thee!

Let me near the fountain growing
Of thy tenderness o'erflowing,
Drink my fill thereof;
Let the fervent flames illuming
All thy soul a fire consuming,
Kindle mine to love.

Thou alone no ransom needing,
Let thy Son, the Victim bleeding
For my sin atone:
What for me my God and Brother
Deigns to bear, O sinless Mother,
Learn not thou alone.

One with thee, thy vigil keeping,
One with thee, the Mourner, weeping
Near His sacred side,
Where thy soul in desolation
Waits of woe the consummation,
Let my soul abide.

Virgin, Earth's divinest blossom,
Spurn not from thy fragrant bosom
Dews that fall for thee!
Make me near thy Son remaining,
Simon-like, His cross sustaining,
One in sympathy!

Let me from His life-distilling
Wounds, mine empty chalice filling,
Quaff the crimson wine.
Lest the flames, devouring end me,
In thy chastity defend me
From the wrath Divine.

Lord, through her who brought
Thee hither,
Let me hence departing whither
Thou the way hast found,
Come, through Death's opposing portal,
To the Victor's palm immortal,
With Thy glory crowned.

Rev. John B. Tabb.