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STABAT Mater dolorosa,
Juxta crucem lachrymosa,
Dum pendebat Filius,

Cujus animam gementem,
Contristatam et dolentem,
Pertransivit gladius.

quam tristis et afflicta Fuit illa benedicta

Mater Unigeniti,

Quæ morebat et dolebat,
Et tremebat, dum videbat,
Nati poenas 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 Jesum in tormentis,
Et flagellis subditum.

Vidit suum dulcem natum,
Moriendo desolatum,

Dum emisit spiritum.


By the cross unheeded sighing,
Where her holiest Son hung dying,
The afflicted Mother stood.

Through her heart, with sorrows riven, Sharp the destined sword was driven, Sharp beyond her worst forebode.

Blest of women-with what anguish
Did her soul within her languish,
Mother of the Holiest One!

How she watched, in bitterest moaning, Fainting, sickening, trembling, groaning, All the tortures of her Son!

Lives there one, who, coldly gazing,
Tearless eyes could stand upraising,
From the crowd that mocks below,

To the cross, where, broken-hearted,
From the Son the Mother parted,
Clings and weeps his speechless woe?

Wounded for the world's transgression, Murdered to make intercession,

Scourged by those he came to save,

That sweet Son, by most forsaken,
She still watched in death-throes shaken,
Till his spirit up he gave.

Eja Christe,* fons amoris,
Me sentire vim doloris

Fac, ut tecum lugeam:

Sancte Pater, istud agas
Crucifixi fige plagas

Cordi meo validè.

Tui nati vulnerati,

Tam dignati pro me pati,
Pœnas mecum divide.

Fac me juxta crucem flere,
Crucifixo condolere,

Donec ego vixero.

Flens cum flente Matre stare,

Me cum illâ sociare

In planctu desidero.

Fac ut portem Christi mortem,
Passionis fac consortem,
Et plagas recolere.

Flammis ne urar succensus

Per te, Jesu, sim defensus
In die judicii.

Quando corpus morietur,

Fac ut animæ donetur

Paradisi gloria.


*It is hoped that no one will object to the slight alterations by which the 1emainder of this hymn is transferred to the true object of worship.

Jesus, fountain of compassion,
By thy pangs, oh! deign to fashion
This vile heart to mourn with thee.

Holy Father, hear my crying,
Bid me watch my Saviour's dying,
Bid me feel his agony.

Since for me, by foes surrounded,
Thine eternal Son hung wounded,
In his wounds some part I


Let me by his cross lie weeping,
Still with him sad vigil keeping,
Let me in her anguish shar

There, by his blest Mother bending,
Tears with tears so holy blending,
On my pathway to the grave.

Make me, each ill lust denying,
Inly bear my Saviour's dying-
Of his stripes some impress wear.

Jesu! from the death eternal,
From the fiends and flames infernal,
Save me in the day of doom;

When the worms this flesh inherit,
Call to rest my wearied spirit-
Rest and light from toil and gloom.

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THER was alsò a Nonne, a Prioresse,
That of hire smiling was full simple and coy;
Hire gretest othe n'as but by Seint Eloy ;
And she was cleped' Madame Eglantine.
Ful wel she sangè the service devine,
Entuned in hire nose ful swetely;

And Frenche she spake ful fayre and fetisly,"
After the schole of Stratford attè Bowe,
For Frenche of Paris was to hire unknowe.
At metè was she wel ytaughte withalle;
She lette no morsel from her lippès fall,
Ne wette hire fingres in hire saucè depe.
Wel coude she carie a morsel, and wel kepe,
Thattè no drope ne fell upon hire brest.
In curtesie was sette ful moche hire lest.3
Hire over lippè wiped she so clene,
That in hire cuppè was no ferthing* sene

Of gresè, when she dronken hadde hire draught.
Ful semèly after her mete she raught.

1 Called.


2 Neatly. 3 Her pleasure. 4 Smallest spot.

5 Rose.

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