O bend thee, gracious mother,
To my sore agony!
Thy heart with swords is piercèd,
And tears are in thine eye,
Because they made thy dear Son
A cruel death to die.
Thou lookest up to heaven,
And deeply thou dost sigh;
His God and thine beholds thee,
And heals thine agony.
Oh! who can know
What bitter woe
Doth pierce me through and through?
The fear, the anguish of my heart,
Its every pang, its every smart,
Know’st thou, and only thou.
And wheresoe’er I wend me,
What woes, what woes attend me,
And how my bosom quakes!
And in my chamber lonely,
With weeping, weeping only,
My heart for sorrow breaks.
These flower-pots on the window
I wet with tears, ah me!
When with the early morning,
I plucked these flowers for thee.
And when the morn’s first sunbeam
Into my room was shed,
I sat, in deepest anguish,
And watched it on my bed.
O save me, Mother of Sorrows!
Unto my prayer give heed,
By all the swords that pierced thee,
O save me in my need!
Scene VIII.
Night. Street before Margaret’s door.
Enter Valentin.
Valentin.
When I sat with our merry men,
At a carousal, now and then,
