dignáti pro me pati,pœnas mecum dívide. 13. Fac me tecum pie flere,crucifíxo condolére, donec ego víxero. 14. Juxta Crucem tecum stare, et me tibi sociárein planctu desídero. 15. Virgo vírginum præclára,mihi iam non sis amára, fac me tecum plángere. 16. Fac ut portem Christi mortem, passiónis fac consórtem,et plagas recólere. 17. Fac me plagis vulnerári,fac me Cruce inebriári, et cruóre Fílii. 18. Flammis ne urar succénsus, per te, Virgo, sim defénsusin die iudícii. 19. Christe, cum sit hinc exire,da per Matrem me veníre ad palmam victóriæ. 20. Quando corpus moriétur, fac, ut ánimæ donéturparadísi glória. Amen. </poem> || At the Cross her station keeping, Stood the mournful Mother weeping, Close to Jesus to the last: Through her heart, his sorrow sharing, All his bitter anguish bearing, now at length the sword has pass'd. Oh, how sad and sore distress'd 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, Whelm'd 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? Bruis'd, derided, curs'd, defil'd, 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 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 Saviour 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 mourn'd 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 swoon'd, In His very blood away; Be to me, O Virgin, nigh, Lest in