Near the cross was Ma­ry weep­ing,
There her mourn­ful sta­tion keep­ing,
Gazing on her dy­ing Son;
There in speech­less ang­uish groan­ing,
Yearning, trem­bling, sigh­ing, moan­ing,
Through her soul the sword had gone.

When no eye its pi­ty gave us,
When there was no arm to save us,
He His love and pow­er dis­played:
By His stripes He wrought our heal­ing,
By His death, our life re­veal­ing,
He for us the ran­som paid.

Jesus, may Thy love co­nstrain us,
That from sin we may re­frain us,
In Thy griefs may deep­ly grieve;
Thee our best affect­ions giv­ing,
To Thy glo­ry ever liv­ing,
May we in Thy glo­ry live.