Stubat mater Sancta Maria Dolorum: OR, THE MOTHER OF SORROWS: A PATHETICAL PLAINSONG OF STABAT MATER DOLOROSA. I. In shade of Death's sad tree Stood doleful she. Ah she now by none other Bathmatee. Name to be known, alas, but Sorrow's Mother. Her's and the whole World's joys, Hanging all torn, she sees ; and in His woes And pains, her pangs and throes : Each wound of His, from every part, All, more at home in her one heart. II. What kind of marble then Is that cold man Who can look on and see, Nor keep such noble sorrows company? Sure even from you (My flints) some drops are due, To see so many unkind swords contest While with a faithful, mutual flood, Her eyes bleed tears, His wounds weep blood. paradox is in verbs indicates the same. III. O costly intercourse Of deaths, and worse Divided loves. While Son and mother Discourse alternate wounds to one another, Quick deaths that grow And gather, as they come and go : increates a lake menty dome of женщ His nails write swords in her, which soon her heart Her swords, still growing with His pain, Turn spears, and straight come home again. Charged to look on, and with a steadfast eye See her life die; Leaving her only so much breath As serves to keep alive her death. V. O mother turtle-dove! Soft source of love! dove usually meone's That these dry lids might borrow Something from thy full seas of sorrow! Jesus. pain of stabat matu Holy Ghost. eternal. eyes. O in that breast Of thine (the noblest nest Both of Love's fires and floods) might I recline The chill lump would relent, and prove Soft subject for the siege of Love. VI. O teach those wounds to bleed In me; me, so to read This book of loves, thus writ O let me, here, claim shares ! Yield something in thy sad prerogative (Great queen of griefs !), and give Me, too, my tears; who, though all stone, VII. Yea, let my life and me Fix here with thee, And at the humble foot Of this fair tree, take our eternal root. That so we may At least be in Love's way; And in these chaste wars, while the wing'd wounds flee So fast 'twixt Him and thee, use émage of dart (lika umors of battle) in a was This has no connectin with The abstractin followers My breast may catch the kiss of some kind dart, VIII. O you, your own best darts, Dear, doleful hearts! Hail! and strike home, and make me see That wounded bosoms their own weapons be. Come wounds! come darts ! Nail'd hands! and piercèd hearts! Cruxun symbols. Come your whole selves, Sorrow's great Son and mother! Nor grudge a younger brother purmal Of griefs his portion, who (had all their due) One single wound should not have left for you. Shall I set there So deep a share, IX. (Dear wounds !), and only now In sorrows draw no dividend with you? O be more wise, If not more soft, mine eyes! Flow, tardy founts! and into decent showers Dissolve my days and hours. And if thou yet (faint soul !) defer To bleed with Him, fail not to weep with her. highest act is to cononene with God's wounds, } financial lowns to to pray mother. emceit илу Me ленная Could X. Rich queen, lend some relief; At least an alms of grief, To a heart who by sad right of sin prove the whole sum (too sure) due to him. Of Love, sweet-bitter things, Which these torn hands transcribed on thy true O teach mine, too, the art To study Him so, till we mix Wounds, and become one crucifix. XI. Oh, let me suck the wine So long of this chaste Vine, Till drunk of the dear wounds, I be A lost thing to the world, as it to me. O faithful friend Of me and of my end! Fold up my life in love; and lay't beneath My dear Lord's vital death. defen for enage, but he does not, want to unvolle Lo, heart, thy hope's whole plea! her precious breath image Chust as The physical. mage. taste |