 | Faustus, A Dramatic Mystery ; The Bride of Corinth ; The First Walpurgis Night |  |
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In a niche of the wall an image of the Mater Dolorosa, with flowers before it.—Margaret places fresh flowers in the bowls.
Margaret.
Mother benign,
Look down on me!
No grief like thine;
Thou who dost see
In his death-agony
Thy Son divine.
Look down on me!
No grief like thine;
Thou who dost see
In his death-agony
Thy Son divine.
In faith unto the Father
Dost thou lift up thine eyes;
In faith unto the Father
Dost pray with many sighs.
The sword is piercing thine own soul, and thou in pain dost pray,
That the pangs which torture him, and are thy pangs, may pass away.
Dost thou lift up thine eyes;
In faith unto the Father
Dost pray with many sighs.
The sword is piercing thine own soul, and thou in pain dost pray,
That the pangs which torture him, and are thy pangs, may pass away.
And who my wound can heal,
And who the pain can feel,
That rends asunder brain and bone?
How my poor heart, within me aching,
Trembles and yearns, and is forsaken—
Thou knowest it—thou alone!
And who the pain can feel,
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How my poor heart, within me aching,
Trembles and yearns, and is forsaken—
Thou knowest it—thou alone!
Where can I go? Where can I go?
Every where woe! woe! woe!
Nothing that does not my own grief betoken;
And when I am alone,
I moan, and moan, and moan,
And am heart-broken.
Every where woe! woe! woe!
Nothing that does not my own grief betoken;
And when I am alone,
I moan, and moan, and moan,
And am heart-broken.
The flowers upon my window sill,
Wet with my tears since dawn they be;
All else were sleeping, while I was weeping,
Praying and choosing flowers for thee.
Wet with my tears since dawn they be;
All else were sleeping, while I was weeping,
Praying and choosing flowers for thee.
Into my chamber brightly
Came the early sun's good morrow;
On my restless bed, unsightly,
I sate up in my sorrow.
Came the early sun's good morrow;
On my restless bed, unsightly,
I sate up in my sorrow.
Oh, in this hour of death, and the near grave,
Succour me, thou, and save!
Look on me with that countenance benign.
Never was grief like thine,—
Look down, look down on mine!
Succour me, thou, and save!
Look on me with that countenance benign.
Never was grief like thine,—
Look down, look down on mine!
| Faustus, A Dramatic Mystery ; The Bride of Corinth ; The First Walpurgis Night | |