Bow thyself down in silence. Who shall speak;
When He, the Immortal Word, hangs speechless, dead;
This awful Holy Week?

Bow thyself down in anguish. Where is joy;
When He, the Eternal Sun's eclipsed in night?
What heart to feast and toy?

Bow thyself down in penitence. Who shall sin;
When, from Sin's thrall, even God might find no way
Save this, our ease to win?

Bow thyself down in praises. Hence, Despair!
Lo! from the lowest depths He 'ld bid thee rise
To heaven; and keep thee there!