The soul and pain pulled from HIS Mother’s breast,
Tears flowed down Her cheeks.
She watched Her Son carry the cross of the world, so frail,
Oh, so weak.
He barely stood beneath the beam that He would eventually meet,
Her tears continued as She was watched Him fall, not once, or twice
But three times in all.
I want to put my arms around Her, to wipe away Her tears,
To walk with Her, to cry with Her, to know what She would say,
She stands with John, now Her son, and he with Her today.
She watches Her Son hang from the cross; soon He will bow His head.
The sky will turn dark, the ground will shake, and mothers will bury their dead.
Mary our Mother, Her sorrows of Seven, “The Prophecy of Simeon”
“A sword will pierce your heart” Your flight into Egypt will come.
You will meet your Son along the way, and He will hang from the cross at 3,
But you dearest Mother will hold Him again as He is lowered beneath the tree.
He will be lowered into Your arms, His face so bloody to see
But your tears will wash away that blood, with your kiss upon His face,
Soon He will be wrapped in linen and anointed with oil, and perfume
The stone will cover where He lay, and no more pain will be,
In three days, He will rise again, and all will know, and all will see.