Religijne - Lenten Lamentations (Part Two)

Introductory Hymn

Let us pray in contemplation
While we sing this lamentation.
With eyes tearful, hearts repenting.
Let us grieve with no relenting.
Lo, the sun and stars are fading;
sadness, nature all pervading.
Host of Angels, sadly weeping;
Who'll explain their deep bereaving.
Mountains, cliffs and rocks are crumbling;
Sealed tombs open, loudly thund'ring.
Why such sorrow? desolation?
Overwhelming all creation?
Tis our Savior's sacred passion
Moving all to deep compassion.
Touch our hearts, O Lord most holy,
With contrition, true and lowly.
By Your precious Blood redeem us;
From sin, malice, oh Lord, free us.
May our lenten lamentations
Curb false ardor and wild passions.

Hymn

Look, O my vain soul,
how much God loves you;
For your salvation,
He gives His Son true.
More than score and pain,
Jesus feels your sin,
Redeemer of men.

Behold Him standing,
Creator and Lord,
Before man's judgement,
amid the fierce horde.
Clad in a white robe,
the Lamb, gentle, meek,
Jeered a fool and freak.

For all my mallce,
for my willful sin,
The soldiers scourge Him,
slash His tendee skin.
Streams of Sacred Blood,
profusely flowing,
God's grace bestowing.

Vain glory and pride,
sought by selfish men,
Pierce His Head with thorns,
as men toy with sin.
Dressed in purple robes,
sceptered with a reed.
Mercy He does plead.

Let my heart of stone,
smitten be with grief,
O my sweet Jesus,
cure my unbelief.
I'm sorry, Jesus,
for offending You.
My God, I love You.

The Soul's Lament

Jesus,
seized by the maddened rabble
innocent captive
sentenced for the guilty.
My Jesus, I love you.
Jesus,
whose holy Face was spattered
with filthy spittle
by the savage ryffians.
My Jesus, I love you.
Jesus,
whom Peter in dread and fear
cowardly denied
thrice before the servants
My Jesus, I love you.
Jesus,
dragged roughly by armed soldiers
before Pilate's court
like a wretch and outlaw.
My Jesus, I love you.
Jesus,
whom Herod and his puppets
ridiculed and mocked
with scorn and derision.
My Jesus, I love you.
Jesus,
who for sport and for mockery
clad in a bright robe
was sent back to Pilate.
My Jesus, I love you.
Jesus,
chained to the pillar of stone
most cruelly beaten
lashed, scourged with no mercy.
My Jesus, I love you.
Jesus,
whose Sacred Head surrounded
by a crown of thorns
piercing the skull deeply.
My Jesus, I love you.
Jesus,
dressed in a scarlet garment
a reed in the hand
scoffed as a King of glory.
My Jesus, I love you.
Jesus,
struck on the Head with the reed
mocked, by bending knees
King and Man of Sorrow.
My Jesus, I love you.

All hail, O Jesus, all honor to You,
For man degraded, humiliated,
To You, all-holy, praises and glory.
To You, Christ Redeemer.

Mary's Dialog with the Soul

Oh, I see Him, my own Jesus,
His body bruised, out in pieces
By the scourging, brutal men.
Holy Virgin, please allow me
Wounds of Your Son to pervade me
As on them, I contemplate.
Seeing my Son so maltreated
With long, sharp thorns,
His Head wreathed,
My soul swoons at this cruel sight.
Holy Mother, please share with me,
Your deep sorrow, hear this my plea,
Over your Son's bleeding Head.
Oh, that I Your Mother grieving
Could in some way help relieving
Your severe pain, O my Son.
I beg you, O Blessed Mary
Your Son's heavy cross to carry
With my love and no complaint.

Through Your wounds and sacred passion,
Lord and Savior, show us Your compassion.