Tuesday, September 15, 2020

Feast of the Seven Dolours of the Blessed Virgin Mary

Come, darkness, spread o'er heaven thy pall,
And hide, O sun, thy face;
While we that bitter death recall,
With all its dire disgrace.

And thou with tearful cheek was there;
But with a heart of steel,
Mary, thou didst his moanings hear,
And all his torments feel.

He hung before thee crucified;
His flesh with scourges rent;
His bloody gashes gaping wide;
His strength and spirit spent.

Thou his dishonour'd countenance
And racking thirst didst see;
By turns the gall, the sponge, the lance
Were agony to thee.

Yet still erect in majesty,
Thou didst the sight sustain;
Oh, more than Martyr! not to die
Amid such cruel pain.

Praise to the blessed Three in One;
And be that courage mine,
Which, sorrowing o'er her only Son,
Did in the Virgin shine.

--This evening's Vespers hymn from the old Stanbrook Abbey edition of The Roman Breviary, in, I think, Fr Caswall's translation.




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