Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832)

INCLINE thou,

O mother of sorrow,

Thy gracious face upon my need!

A sword unsparing

Thy heart is tearing.

Thou seest how thine own Son must bleed.

With eyes imploring,

Thy sighs outpouring,

Thou prayest for His and thy great need.

Who feeleth

How stealeth

My pain through every bone?

How my poor, poor heart is quaking,

How with longing it is aching,

Thou canst know alone, alone!

Wherever I am turning,

With what a sore, sore burning

My bosom ever aches!

When I am left alone now,

I weep and weep and moan now,

My heart within me breaks.

The plants before my window

I watered with tears—oh, see!—

When in the early morning

I broke these flowers for thee.

Yes, when the sun was shining

In at my room to-day,

In bed I sat up pining

So early, in dismay.

Help! Rescue me from death—disgrace!

Incline thou,

Oh, mother of sorrow,

Upon my need thy gracious face!