Hold Me Like Holy Water

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 passed. O how sad and sore distressed was that Mother highly blest, of the sole-begotten One. Christ above in tormet 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? Bruised, derided, cursed, defiled, she beheld her tender Child, all with 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 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, by Thy Mother my defense, by Thy Cross my victory; When my body dies, let me soul be granted the glory of Paradise. Amen.