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[In a niche a devotional image of the Mater Dolorosa,
before it pots of flowers.]

MARGERY [puts fresh flowers into the pots].
Ah, hear me,
Draw kindly near me,
Mother of sorrows, heal my woe!

Sword-pierced, and stricken
With pangs that sicken,
Thou seest thy son's last life-blood flow!

Thy look--thy sighing---
To God are crying,
Charged with a son's and mother's woe!

Sad mother!
What other
Knows the pangs that eat me to the bone?
What within my poor heart burneth,
How it trembleth, how it yearneth,
Thou canst feel and thou alone!

Go where I will, I never
Find peace or hope--forever
Woe, woe and misery!

Alone, when all are sleeping,
I'm weeping, weeping, weeping,
My heart is crushed in me.

The pots before my window,
In the early morning-hours,
Alas, my tears bedewed them,
As I plucked for thee these flowers,

When the bright sun good morrow
In at my window said,
Already, in my anguish,
I sate there in my bed.

From shame and death redeem me, oh!
Draw near me,
And, pitying, hear me,
Mother of sorrows, heal my woe!