Good Friday . . .

Ye cruel thorns, in mocking wreath entwined
My Savior's brow in agony to bind
Oh, cease to rend that flesh divine ;
My loving Lord torment no more ;
Wound rather, wound this heart of mine,
The guilty cause of all He bore.

Unpitying nails, whose points with anguish fierce
The hands and feet of my Redeemer pierce
Oh, cease to rend that flesh divine ;
My loving Lord torment no more ;
Wound rather, wound this heart of mine,
The guilty cause of all He bore.

Unfeeling lance, that dar'st to open wide
The sacred temple of my Savior's side
Oh, cease to wound that flesh divine ;
My loving Lord insult no more ;
Pierce rather, pierce this heart of mine,
The guilty cause of all He bore.


~St. Alphonsus de Ligouri