Truly, O blessed Mother, a sword has pierced your heart. For only by passing through your heart could the sword enter the flesh of your Son. Indeed, after your Jesus—who belongs to everyone, but is especially yours—gave up his life, the cruel spear, which was not withheld from his lifeless body, tore open his side. Clearly it did not touch his soul and could not harm him, but it did pierce your heart. For surely his soul was no longer there, but yours could not be torn away. Thus the violence of sorrow has cut through your heart, and we rightly call you more than martyr, since the effect of compassion in you has gone beyond the endurance of physical suffering.

Perhaps the image that most often comes to mind when we sing this hymn is that of Christ with Mary standing to His right and John to His left as has been depicted in art through the centuries down to our day. As beautiful and powerful as that image is, I believe that a close reading of the Latin text presents to our mind’s eye a more dynamic image of the Crucifixion and its dramatis personae. First, to some extent the verse itself (tochaic tetrameter with rhymed lines) is a quickening cadence. But more significantly the insistent repetition of words fac (make), vulneratus (wounds), plagas (blows) as well the use of the infinitive and imperfect forms of the verb invite us, I think, to envisage a series of dynamic and evolving vignettes that invite our participation. It could even be said that the author is praying that he might experience the crucifixion and Mary’s sorrow as they unfold.