Aged saint, life, ready now to depart.
Oh but what sword through her heart shall be going!
Oh to what sorrow is born her fair child!
Over what altar his blood will be flowing!
He whom she bears, the Lamb holy and mild.
Christ, in his infantile body so tender,
Spotless in purity, here hath foreshown,
Sign of the sacrifice he shall yet render,
Dying the sin of the world to atone.
Now to the Father in glory supernal,