There stood by the Cross of Jesus His Mother
(St. John xix. 25)
What words can ever describe the indescrib-
able anguish that rent the sacred heart of Mary,
as she looked upon her Divine Son hanging on
the Cross? Was there ever such a spectacle? He
is so torn and mangled, covered with a mantle of
blood from head to foot, that one can scarce recognize in that unsightly figure the human form.
Can it be He. the fairest among the children of
Men? My God, what can have transformed Him
into this piteous, this ghastly object?
Every wound in Jesus' body was also a wound
in the heart of Mary: every fibre, every nerve
throbbing in agony. Every pang He suffered reechoed in her heart. She endured by her compassion a share in all the anguish of His Passion.
What was the thick darkness around compared
with the black darkness that overspread her heart?
Why did Mary suffer all this? That she
might be our Mother--the Mother of mankind.
She, who brought forth her Divine Son without a
pang, suffered many a piercing pang when from
the Cross her dying Son commended to her the
sinful sons of men. That was indeed a maternity
of sorrow she suffered for our sins: for mine.
Jesus, when His three hours were run,
Bequeathed thee from the Cross to me,
And O, how can I love thy Son,
Sweet Mother, if I love not thee?