Come down, come down, I’ll hold you close;
Now rest, O child of mine:
The thorns have stained your brow with blood,
Your lips are stained with wine.
Now rest, now rest, my firstborn son-
I weep to see you dead;
The blood and water from your side
Have dyed my sandals red.
I weep, I weep, for now I know
The fatal prophecy:
When steel nails pierced your wrists,
A sword did pierce through me.