By the blood that flowed from thee
in thy bitter agony, by the scourge so meekly
borne, by thy purple robe of scorn:
Jesus, Saviour, hear our cry, thou wert
suffering once as we. Hear the loving litany,
we, thy children, sing to thee.
By the thorns that crowned thy head,
by thy sceptre of a reed, by thy footsteps
faint and slow, weighed beneath thy cross of woe:
By the nails and pointed spear, by thy people’s
cruel jeer, by thy dying prayer which rose,
begging mercy for thy foes: