Good Friday

Woe is me, my Child! 
I see Thee, dearest and beloved Child, 
hanging upon the cross, 
and my heart is bitterly wounded. 
But in Thy love, 
speak some word to Thy handmaiden. 

 Woe is me, my Child! 
I wish to take my son down from the wood 
and to hold Him in my arms 
as once I held Him when He was a little child; 
But alas, there is no-one to give Him to me. 

 Woe is me, my Child! 
I see Thee bruised and wounded, without glory, 
stripped upon the cross. 

O my Child, and my heart burns. 
 Woe is me, my Child! 
In my arms, I hold Thee as a corpse,
 O loving Lord, who has brought the dead back to life; Grievously is my heart wounded, 
and I long to die with Thee, 
for I cannot bear to look upon Thee 
lifeless and without breath. 

 Woe is me, my Child! 
I reflect, O Master: 
how never again shall I hear Thy voice. 
Never again shall Thy handmaiden see the beauty of Thy face 
as in the past, for Thou, my Son, 
hast sunk down before mine eyes. 

Full Lyrics