ems to me a tenderness grand as exquisite.
The outburst of the chorus of the Faithful in the last stanza but one,--
When he rose, then fell her sorrow,
is as fine as anything I know in the region of the lyric.
"Stand well, mother, under rood; the cross.
Behold thy son with gladé mood; cheerful.
Blithe mother mayst thou be."
"Son, how should I blithé stand?
I see thy feet, I see thy hand
Nailéd to the hard tree."
"Mother, do way thy wepynde: give over thy weeping.
I tholé death for mankind-- suffer.
For my guilt thole I none."
"Son, I feel the dede stounde; death-pang.
The sword is at my heart's ground bottom.
That me byhet Simeon." foreshowed.
"Mother, mercy! let me die,
For Adam out of hell buy, for to buy Adam.
And his kin that is forlore." lost.
"Son, what shall me to rede?
My pain paineth me to dede: death.
Let me die thee before!"
"Mother, thou rue all of thy bairn; rue thou_; _all is only expletive
Thou wash away the bloody tern; wash thou; tears.
It doth me worse than my ded." hurts me more; death.
"Son, how may I terés werne? turn aside tears.
I see the bloody streamés erne flow.
From thy heart to my fet." feet.
"Mother, now I may thee seye, say to thee.
Better is that I one deye die.
Than all mankind to hellé go."
"Son, I see thy body byswongen, lashed.
Feet and hands throughout stongen: pierced through and through. No wonder though me be woe." woe be to me.
"Mother, now I shall thee tell,
If I not die, tho
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