From the website, Catholic Harbor of Faith and Morals…
The Most Holy Winding-Sheet
Luke xxiii. 53: “And taking Him down, he wrapped Him in fine linen and laid Him in a sepulchre.”
The glories of that sacred winding-sheet
Let every tongue record;
Which from the cross received with honour meet
The body of the Lord.
Ah! who, beholding these sad images,
Can tears control?
Can check the throbs of swelling grief that rise
Up from his inmost soul?
O Dear Memorial! on which we see,
In bloody stains impressed,
The form sublime in awful majesty,
Of our Redeemer blest.
Jesu! my sin it was that laid Thee low,
And through Thy death I live;
That life, which to Thy torments sore I owe,
Henceforth to Thee I give.
How doth the grievous sight of Thee recall
Those dying throes to mind,
Which Christ, compassionating Adam’s fall,
Endured for lost mankind.
Glory to Him who to redeem us bore
Such bitter dying pains;
Who with th’ Eternal Father evermore,
And Holy Spirit reigns.
His wounded side, His hands and feet pierced through,
Mirrored in Thee appear;
His lacerated limbs, His gory brow
And thorn-entangled hair.
The particular Circumstances which occurred from our
Lord’s Death to His Resurrection.
Jesus! all hail, who for my sin
Didst die, and by that death didst win
Eternal life for me;
Send me Thy grace, good Lord! that I
Unto the world and flesh may die,
And hide my life with Thee.
He is buried
Jesus! in spices wrapped, and laid
Within the garden’s rocky shade,
By jealous seals made sure
Embalm me with Thy grace, and hide
Thy servant in Thy wounded side,
A heavenly sepulchre!
His side is pierced through
Jesus! from out Thy open side,
Thou hast the thirsty world supplied
With endless streams of love;
Come ye who would your sickness quell,
Draw freely from this sacred well:
Its heavenly virtues prove.
He descends into Hell
Jesus! who to the spirits went,
And preached the new enfranchisement
Thy recent death had won;
Absolve me, Lord, and set me free
From self and sin, that I may be
Bondsman to Thee alone.
The inscription upon the Cross
Jesus! around Thy sacred head
There is an ominous brightness shed,
The name which Pilate wrote;
Save us, Thou royal Nazarene!
For in Thy Threefold Name are seen
The gifts Thy Passion brought.
The Descent of Jesus Christ to Limbus
“He descended into Hell.”
Thousands of years had come and gone,
And slow the ages seemed to move
To those expectant souls that filled
That prison-house of patient love.
‘Tis God! ’tis Man! the living soul
Of Jesus, beautiful and bright,
The first-born of created things,
Flushed with a pure resplendent light.
It was a weary watch of theirs.
But onward still their hopes would press;
Captives they were, yet happy too,
In their contented weariness.
‘Tis Mary’s Child! Eve saw Him come;
She flew from Joseph’s haunted side,
And worshipped, first of all that crowd,
The soul of Jesus crucified.
As noiseless tides the ample depths
Of some capacious harbour fill,
So grew the calm of that dread place
Each day with increase swift and still.
So after four long thousand years,
Faith reached her end, and Hope her aim,
And from them as they passed away,
Love lit her everlasting flame!
But see! how hushed the crowd of souls!
Whence comes the lift of upper day?
What glorious form is this that finds
Through central earth its ready way?