Oh, good Shepherd! hear us crying. CRUX FIDELIS, FOR GOOD FRIDAY Versicle. Faithful Cross! of all our forests Tree most noble and most fair! On no other plant that groweth Leaves and bloom like thine appear: Sweetest nails and sweetest timber, Such a cherish'd weight to bear.* Hymn. Sing, my tongue! the glorious combat Of the triumph nobly wrought: And how Christ, the world's Redeemer, This versicle is repeated between each verse of the Hymn. The world's Maker, on beholding Our first parent's cruel fall, Who, the noxious apple eating, Introduc'd sad death to all Then decreed that wood should ransom Then the plan of our redemption Then it was that God determin'd Art should quell the serpent's art : Of the promis'd time was come, See him crowned with thorns and fainting: Then the lance its puncture gave, To assuage thy Maker's pains! The Prose for EASTER SUNDAY and Easter week, The paschal Victim calls for praise; the Christian song obeys. The lamb redeems the flock: Christ, whom no sin defiles, To his great Father thus the sinner reconciles. Death and life in contest strange have met: The leader slain of life yet liveth, reigneth yet. To us, Mary, say, What sawest thou by the way? Angels bearing witness: both the napkin and the cloth. Christ my hope is risen: he will meet you all in Galilee. That Christ is truly risen from the dead, we know. Victorious king! to us thy mercy show. THE STABAt Mater. FOR FRIDAY IN PASSION WERK. Tearful stood the mother lowly, Near the cross on which her holy Son was nail'd, her son ador'd. Her soul the while, with anguish heaving- Oh, how woeful her dejection! All the mother's blest affection There bewail'd its only one: Trembling wail'd and sorrow'd o'er him: View'd each torturing nail that tore him→ Her renown'd, her duteous Son. Lives there one who tears could smother, In this anguish great and wild? Lives there one-'tis past believing- Torments, stripes, his care repay :— Sees her Jesus, love-inspiring, Gently breathe his soul away. Hail! kind mother, source of feeling! O'er me: make me grieve with thee. Set my heart on fire returning All Christ's pains with love:-a burning Mourn with thee thy bitter loss. Still with tears—which thou wilt give. Virgin, of all virgins brightest ! Aid me thou who thus unitest Hearts in grief-thy grief be mine. |