Hard it is to save them;
Who can burst lust's chains so strong,
That, alas, enslave them?
O how soon the foot may slip,
When the smooth ground pressing!
O, how false are eye and lip,
False a breath caressing!
MATER GLORLOSA hovers past.
CHORUS OF PENITENT WOMEN.
To bring realms on high
In majesty soaring,
O, hark to our cry
Thy pity imploring,
Thou help to the cheerless,
In glory so peerless!
MAGNA PECCATRIX (St. Luke vii. 36).