When Jesus saw His mother stand
Beside His cruel cross of death,
In all His pains He thought of her,
And soothed her with His dying breath.

O perfect pattern, spotless love!
In life, in death, we learn of Thee,
Whose human heart so warmly beat,
To teach us what a child should be.

Ours cannot be as pure as Thine
Who, all Thy holy childhood dear,
Didst never vex Thy mother's soul,
Nor cost her eye a single tear.

But give us tender loving thought,
To feel a mother's inward care;
And still, with many a little art,
To soothe the grief we cannot share.