I who once was free,
Sold unto death you see;
Trust not, Mother dear,
Hearts ungrateful here!
With a honeyed smile,
Mother, a false friend
At the banquet's end
His hand within my dish the while,
Like a lamb betrayed me vile.
Trust not, Mother dear,
Hearts ungrateful here!
I placed him at my side
And passed the dish to him;
I shared and did provide
The best unto the brim.
His bargain rare and grim, —
He sold Thy Son away,
Trust not, Mother dear,
Hearts ungrateful here!
The garden flowers were wet
With the tears I shed thereon;
'Twas Holy Thursday, yet
With me had Judas gone;
He gave unto Thy Son
The kiss I'll not forget —
Trust not, Mother dear,
Hearts ungrateful here!