Faithful cross! above all other,
One and only noble tree!
None in foliage, none in blossom,
None in fruit thy peer may be.
God our maker, deeply grieving
That the first-made Adam fell,
When he took the fruit forbidden
Which to taste was death and hell,
Noted then this Tree, the ruin
Of the first tree to dispel.
Sweetest wood, and sweetest iron!
Sweetest weight is hung on thee.
Thus the work of our salvation
Needs must fill its ordered plan;
Craft the shifting traitor baffle
As his craft deluded man ;
And the medicine of healing
Spring whence first the hurt began.
Faithful cross! above all other,
One and only noble tree!
None in foliage, none in blossom,
None in fruit thy peer may be.
Therefore when the sacred fulness
Of the appointed time was come, God the Son, the world's Creator,
Sent from out the Father's home, Issued forth on earth incarnate,
Offspring of the Virgin's womb. Sweetest wood, and sweetest iron! Sweetest weight is hung on thec.
Lo, the Infant weepeth, lying
Where the narrow manger stands; While His blessed Virgin Mother Wrappeth Him in swaddling bands Till the tightly girded linen
Bindeth limbs and feet and hands.
Faithful Cross! above all other,
One and only noble tree!
None in foliage, none in blossom,
None in fruit thy peer may be.
Thirty years among us dwelling,
His appointed time fulfilled,
Born for this, He meets His passion,
For that this He freely willed:
On the cross the Lamb is lifted,
Where His life-blood shall be
spilled.
Sweetest wood, and sweetest iron! Sweetest weight is hung on thee;
He endured the nails, the spitting,
Vinegar, and spear, and reed;
From that holy body broken
Blood and water forth proceed: Earth, and stars, and sky, and ocean, By that flood from stain are freed.
Faithful cross! above all other,
One and only noble tree!
None in foliage, none in blossom,
None in fruit thy peer may be.
Bend thy boughs, O tree of glory!
Thy relaxing sinews bend;
For awhile the ancient rigor,
That thy birth bestowed, suspend;
And the king of heavenly beauty
On thy bosom gently tend!
Sweetest wood, and sweetest iron!
Sweetest weight is hung on thee.
Thou alone wast counted worthy
This world's ransom to sustain
That a shipwreck'd race for ever
Might a port of refuge gain,
With the sacred Blood anointed
Of the Lamb for sinners slain.
Faithful cross; above all other,
One and only noble tree!
None in foliage, none in blossom,
None in fruit thy peer may be.
Laud and honor to the Father;
Laud and honor to the Son;
Laud and honor to the Spirit;
Ever Three, and ever One;
Consubstantial, co-eternal,
While unending ages run.
Sweetest wood, and sweetest iron! Sweetest weight is hung on thee.
Stabat Mater dolorosa.
Office Hymn, Passion Week.
Y the Cross sad vigil keeping,
Stood the Mother doleful weeping,
Where her Son extended hung;
For her soul, of joy bereaved,
Bowed with anguish, deeply grievèd, Lo! the piercing sword hath
O how sad and sore distressèd
Now was she, that Mother blessèd
Of the Sole-Begotten One!
Woe-begone, with heart's prostration,
Mother meek, the bitter passion
Saw she of her Glorious Son,
Who, on Christ's fond Mother looking,
Such extreme affliction brooking,
Born of women, would not weep?
Who, on Christ's fond Mother
thinking,
With her Son in sorrow sinking, Would not share her sorrows deep?
For His people's sins rejected,
She her Jesus unprotected,
Saw with thorns, with scourges
Saw her Son from judgment taken,
Her Belov'd in death forsaken,
Till His Spirit forth He sent.
Jesu, may her deep devotion
Stir in me the same emotion,
Fount of love, Redeemer kind;
That my heart fresh ardor gaining,
And a purer love attaining,
May with Thee acceptance find.
Those five wounds of Jesus smitten, Mother! in my heart be written, Deep as in thine own they be; Thou, my Saviour's Cross who bearest, Thou, thy Son's rebuke who sharest, Let me share them both with thee.
In the passion of my Maker
Be my sinful soul partaker,
Weep till death, and weep with
Thee;
Mine with Thee be that sad station,
There to watch the great Salvation,
Wrought upon the atoning Tree.
Virgin, thou of virgins fairest,
May the bitter woe thou bearest
Make on me impression deep;
Thus Christ's dying may I carry,
With Him in His passion tarry,
And His Wounds in memory keep.
May His Wounds transfix me wholly
May His Cross and Life-Blood holy
Ebriate my heart and mind;
Thus inflamed with pure affection,
In the Virgin's Son protection,
May I at the judgment find.
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