The Deacon's Bench


Image: “The Holy Virgin in Old Age” by James Tissot

Can the human heart refrain
from partaking in her pain,
in that Mother’s pain untold?

 Bruised, derided, cursed, defiled,

she beheld her tender Child

All with bloody scourges rent.

For the sins of His own nation,
 saw Him hang in desolation,

Till His spirit forth He sent.

O sweet 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.

Stabat Mater

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