Near the Cross, Her Vigil Keeping

Near the cross

her vi­gil keep­ing

Stood the mo­ther

worn with weep­ing

Where He hung

the dy­ing Lord;

Through her soul

in ang­uish groan­ing

Bowed in sor­row

sigh­ing

moan­ing

Passed the sharp and pierc­ing sword.

O the weight of her af­flict­ion!

Hers

who won God’s be­ne­dict­ion

Hers

who bore God’s Ho­ly One:

O that speech­less

cease­less yearn­ing!

O those dim eyes nev­er turn­ing

From her won­drous

suf­fer­ing Son!

Who up­on that mo­ther gaz­ing

In her trou­ble so amaz­ing

Born of wo­man

would not weep?

Who of Christ’s dear mo­ther think­ing

While her Son that cup is drink­ing

Would not share her sor­row deep?

For His people’s sin chas­tis­èd

She be­held her Son des­pis­èd

Bound and bleed­ing ’neath the rod;

Saw the Lord’s Anoint­ed tak­en

Dying de­so­late

for­sak­en

Heard Him yield His soul to God.

Near Thy cross

O Christ

ab­id­ing

Grief and love my heart di­vid­ing

I with her would take my place;

By Thy guard­ian cross up­hold me

In Thy dy­ing

Christ

en­fold me

With the death­less arms of grace.