Man of sorrows, wrapt in grief,
Bow your ear to our relief;
Thou for us the path hast throd
Of the dreadful wrath of God;
Thou the cup of fire hast drained
Till its light alone remained.
Lamb of love! we look to thee,
Hear our mournful litany.

By the garden, fraught with woe,
Whither thou full oft wouldst go;
By thy agony of pray'r,
In the desolation there;
By the dire and deep distress
of that myst'ry fathomless,
Lord, our tears in mercy see;
Hearken to our litany.

By the chalice brimming o'er
With disgrace and torment sore;
By those lips which fain would pray
That it might but pass away;
By the heart which drank it dry,
Lest a rebel race should die.
Be thy pity, Lord, our plea;
Hear our solemn litany.

Man of sorrows! let thy grief
Purchase for us our relief.
Lord of mercy! bow thine ear,
Slow to anger, swift to hear:
By the Cross's royal road,
Lead us to the throne of God,
There for aye to sing to thee
Heav'n's triumphant litany.