Listen, dear brothers,
I want to complain of a cruel murder¹;
Hear about the sorrow
That befell me on Good Friday.

Have pity on me, you old and young,
Because a painful feast day came for me:
I had only one Son
And I mourn for him.

Deep sorrow came over me, a miserable woman,
Seeing my dear son covered with blood.
Dreadful is this moment and frightful this hour,
When I see an infidel Jew
As he beats, tortures my dear Son.

My little Son, dear and loved,
Share your wounds with your mother;
I have always carried you, little Son, in my heart,
And I have also served you faithfully.
Speak to your mother, so that I can be consoled,
Because you are going away from me, my dear hope.

My dear Son, if I had had you down here,
I could have helped you somewhat:
Your little head hangs to one side; I would support it;
Blood is flowing over you; I would wipe it off;
You cry for water; I would give you drink;
But I may not reach your holy body.

O, angel Gabriel,
Where is this great joy of yours,
Of which you promised me so much,
Saying: "Virgin, you are full of grace!"?
And I am full of sorrow and grief.
My flesh and all my bones have rotted away.

Implore God, all you dear and loving mothers,
So you do not see such a sight with your children,
As I, a miserable woman, saw today
With my own, my dear, beautiful Son,
Who suffered such torments, though perfectly innocent.

I do not have nor will I have another one,
Only you, my Son, stretched upon the cross.

Translated by Michael J. Mikoś