"Mary, Mother, art thou asleep?"
"Nay, dear Son, but waking and dreaming."
"Mary, Mother, why dost thou weep?"
"I saw Thy dear Blood flowing and streaming."

"Mary, Mother, tell me thy dream."
"Blessed Son, Thou wert trapped and taken,
Scourged with stripes in a hall didst seem,
Mocked with laughter, despised, forsaken."

"Blessed Mother, thy dream tell all."
"Blessed Son, on a Cross wert lying,
While a black, blind knave from the hall
Pierced Thy heart still warm from dying."

"Mary, Mother, thy dream is true;
True thy dreaming, sad Mother Mary.
Whether the years be many or few,
Still the hunters gain on the quarry."

Over the hill, and a cold, cold hill,
Saw Mary dreaming and weeping,
Making a space betwixt souls and ill,
Snatching men from hell and its keeping."