Oh, Heart of a Hundred Sorrows,
Whose pity is great therefore,
The gift that thy children bring thee
Is ever a sorrow more.
Sure of thy dear compassion,
Concerned for our own relief,
Ever and ever we seek thee,
And each with his gift of grief.
Oh, not to reprove my brothers,
Yet I, who am less than less,
Would bring thee my joy of being
The rose of my happiness.
The spirit that makes my singing
The gladness without alloy,
Oh, Heart of a Hundred Sorrows,
I bring thee a little joy.