The Way of Sorrows

O Lord

the wil­der­ness to me

A ve­ry para­dise shall be

Since Thou for for­ty days wast there

In fast­ing

so­li­tude and pray­er.

Unworthy though these feet to rest

On ground Thy foot­steps once have blest

The way of sor­rows shall be mine

Made sweet be­cause it first was Thine.

Lord

let me find some low­ly place

Where I may seek Thy pi­ty­ing face

And plead with Thee by Ol­iv­et

By ago­ny

and bloody sweat.

Some qui­et aisle or dim re­cess

Shall make for me a wil­der­ness;

And sure­ly an­gels shall be there

To wait on pe­ni­tence and pray­er.

Nor is this all: for I would know

The depth of shame

the crown of woe

Stand by the strick­en mo­ther’s side

While Thou art mocked and cru­ci­fied.

And then in hours of sad­dest gloom

I still will watch around Thy tomb

Till with the day new joy be born

And Thou shalt rise on East­er morn.

O bless­èd thought

that faith can see

In ev­ery al­tar—Cal­va­ry

Find there the lov­ing arms ou­tspread

And fall be­fore the fall­en Head.

Come King of kings

come Light of light:

The Bride awaits the day all bright

When she shall lift

her mourn­ing o’er

The shout of Pas­chal joy once more.