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O how sad and afflicted |
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Was that blessed Mother of the Only-begotten! |
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Who mourned and grieved, the pious Mother, |
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With seeing the torment of her glorious Son. |
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Who is the man who would not weep |
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If seeing the Mother of Christ in such agony? |
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Who would not have compassion |
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On beholding the devout mother suffering with her Son? |
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He who can see the grief and misery |
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He worships the call of death |
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He who can see the weak falling |
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With grotesque smile on face |
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He who can see the world now burning |
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All the old, turning into dust |
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He who can see the light fading |
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In eyes of the followers of Christ |
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For the sins of His people |
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She saw Jesus in torment |
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And subjected to scourge |
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She saw her sweet Son dying, forsaken |
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She saw Jesus in torment |
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While He gave up His spirit. |
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Who would not have compassion |
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On beholding the devout mother suffering with her Son? |
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His eyes burns of lust |
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His fist is raised ready for battle |
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Empathy discarded for Joy of atrocity |
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His world to take, his world to own |
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(The grieving Mother stood |
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Beside the cross weeping |
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Where her Son was hanging. |
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Through her weeping soul, |
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Compassionate and grieving, |
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A sword passed.) |