Before Easter, there has to be good friday, for all of us.

O that blessed one, grief laden
Blessed Mother, blessed Maiden,
Mother of the all holy One.

O the silent, ceasless mourning,
O those dim eyes, never turning
From that wondrous, suffering Son.

Who on Christ’s dear Mother gazing,
In her trouble so amazing,
Born of woman, would not weep?

For his people’s sins, in anguish,
There she saw the Victim languish,
Bleed in torments, bleed and die.

Saw the Lord’s Anointed taken;
Saw her Child in death forsaken
Heard His last expiring cry.

In the passion of my Maker
Be my sinful soul partaker,
May I bear with her my part.

Of His Passion bear the token,
In a spirit bowed and broken
Bear His death within my heart.

From Vivaldi’s Stabat Mater, a sadder and more beautiful work than any other I’ve heard.

Isaac