Stabat Mater

Stabat mater dolorosa
 juxta Crucem lacrimosa,
 dum pendebat Filius.
 Cuius animam gementem,
 contristatam et dolentem
 pertransivit gladius.
 O quam tristis et afflicta
 fuit illa benedicta,
 mater Unigeniti!
 Quae mœrebat et dolebat,
 pia Mater, dum videbat
 nati pœnas inclyti.
 Quis est homo qui non fleret,
 matrem Christi si videret
 in tanto supplicio?
 Quis non posset contristari
 Christi Matrem contemplari
 dolentem cum Filio?
 Pro peccatis suæ gentis
 vidit Iesum in tormentis,
 et flagellis subditum.
 Vidit suum dulcem Natum
 moriendo desolatum,
 dum emisit spiritum.
 Eia, Mater, fons amoris
 me sentire vim doloris
 fac, ut tecum lugeam.
 Fac, ut ardeat cor meum
 in amando Christum Deum
 ut sibi complaceam.
 Sancta Mater, istud agas,
 crucifixi fige plagas
 cordi meo valide.
 Tui Nati vulnerati,
 tam dignati pro me pati,
 pœnas mecum divide.
 Fac me tecum pie flere,
 crucifixo condolere,
 donec ego vixero.
 Juxta Crucem tecum stare,
 et me tibi sociare
 in planctu desidero.
 Virgo virginum præclara,
 mihi iam non sis amara,
 fac me tecum plangere.
 Fac, ut portem Christi mortem,
 passionis fac consortem,
 et plagas recolere.
 Fac me plagis vulnerari,
 fac me Cruce inebriari,
 et cruore Filii.
 Flammis ne urar succensus,
 per te, Virgo, sim defensus
 in die iudicii.
 Christe, cum sit hinc exire,
 da per Matrem me venire
 ad palmam victoriæ.
 Quando corpus morietur,
 fac, ut animæ donetur
 paradisi gloria. Amen.
 At the Cross her station keeping,
 stood the mournful Mother weeping,
 close to her Son 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?
 Can the human heart refrain
 from partaking in her pain,
 in that Mother's pain untold?
 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.
 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:
 By the Cross with thee to stay,
 there with thee to weep and pray,
 is all I ask of thee to give.
 Virgin of all virgins blest!,
 Listen to my fond request:
 let me share thy grief divine;
 Let me, to my latest breath,
 in my body bear the death
 of that dying Son of thine.
 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;
 While my body here decays,
 may my soul Thy goodness praise,
 Safe in Paradise with Thee.
 Translation by Edward Caswall
 Lyra Catholica (1849)