O wê des smerzen

Alas for my sorrow!

My heart is in pain;

Where is hope for the morrow

To whom now complain?

O God, take compassion

On me lying low,

And comfort, O comfort me,

Through Thine own woe.

Keenly regretful,

I call to my mind

How we are forgetful,

How He is so kind!

Who gladly, yet painfully,

Yielded His breath,

Only to ransom us

Ever from death.

Where shall I find Him,

Him dearest to me,

Who let His foes bind Him

That we might be free?