Mary's soul was pierced by the humble surroundings of the road to her Son's Birth. Her heart ached because the Lord of Love was so unloved by His own people-and the world of the Romans. She was full of love, and was dreaming of her Baby to come.
But, she felt the cold and held her Baby in the womb tight. She gave her pure love to her Pure Son.
Hallowed Mother, do this favour: Those Wounds that gored my Saviour, deeply on my heart engraved. Mine it be, Christ's throes in sharing. Mine it be, his anguish bearing. These, his wounds, to keep in mind. From the flame of hell unending, be thou, Virgin, me defending, in that dreadful reckoning day! When in death my eyes are closing, open them, Lord, to see reposing, Victory's crown in Mary's hand. When my frame by death is broken, and my doom by thee is spoken, be it, Lord, the better land.
I beseech you, O Lord Jesus Christ, that the Blessed Virgin Mary, whose most holy soul was pierced in the hour of your Passion by the sword of sorrow, may intercede for us with Your mercy now and at the hour of our death.