An enclosed Area.

(In a niche of the wall an image of the Mater dolorosa, with flower-jugs before it.)

Margaret. [placing fresh flowers in the jugs] O mother rich in sorrows, Bend down to hear my cry! O bend thee, gracious mother, To my sore agony!

Thy heart with swords is piercèd, And tears are in thine eye, Because they made thy dear Son A cruel death to die.

Thou lookest up to heaven, And deeply thou dost sigh; His God and thine beholds thee, And heals thine agony.

Oh! who can know What bitter woe Doth pierce me through and through? The fear, the anguish of my heart, Its every pang, its every smart, Know’st thou, and only thou.

And wheresoe’er I wend me, What woes, what woes attend me, And how my bosom quakes! And in my chamber lonely, With weeping, weeping only, My heart for sorrow breaks.

These flower-pots on the window I wet with tears, ah me! When with the early morning, I plucked these flowers for thee.

And when the morn’s first sunbeam Into my room was shed, I sat, in deepest anguish, And watched it on my bed.

O save me, Mother of Sorrows! Unto my prayer give heed, By all the swords that pierced thee, O save me in my need!