At the Cross

At the cross her vigil keeping
Stood the mournful mother weeping
Where he hung, the dying Lord
Through her soul of joy bereaved
Bowed with sorrow deeply grieved
Passed the sharp and piercing sword
Passed the sharp and piercing sword

Who upon that mother gazing
In her anguish so amazing
Born of woman, would not weep?
Who of Christ’s dear mother thinking,
While her son that cup is drinking,
Would not share her sorrow deep?
Would not share her sorrow deep?

Near your cross, O Christ, abiding,
Grief and love my heart dividing,
I with her would take my place
By your saving cross uphold me,
In your dying, Christ, enfold me,
With the deathless arms of grace.
With the deathless arms of grace.

Arr. Seth Thomas Crissman © 2013