The Thirteenth Station

I will declare thy name to my brethren:
  in the midst of the church I will praise thee.  Ps. 21:23

What tale had spiteful ignorance rendered?
 To the dead Messiah loving hands reached,
To the bread of life’s body death had breached.
 Dying through love, sin, and death, Christ conquered.
Its gates opened, hell's angels surrendered.
 Nails were removed, eyes and lips were silent:
What death-locked look was with pure beauty blent?
 No Roman or high priest God’s will deterred.

Crying over him, blood upon her blue,
 Mary held Jesus within her arms.
Tears fell on his face and hands, meekest dew.
 For her, death held no further, last alarms.

Embracing her Lord with sad tenderness,
 Mary’s dolors pierced her heart’s recess.