Hearken to the reed flute and its complaint, how it laments its sorry state

In anguish it groans in melodious strain

"Out of the depths I cry to you. I cry to you O Lord! 

Through my fault

Through my fault

Through my most grevious fault

Begotten not made

Consubstantial with the Father

Through Him all things were made

For us men and for our salvation

For the sake of his sorrowful passion

He suffered death and was buried

For thine is the Kingdom

When the melancholy fit shall fall

For thine is the power

My God, my God

And thine is the glory

To the Father

To the Son

To  the Holy Spirit

As it was in the beginning

Sometimes it causes me to tremble

O bleeding head so wounded

Reviled and put to scorn

Soul of my saviour 

Sanctify my breast

Body of Christ 

Be thou my saving guest

Blood of my saviour

Bathe me in thy tide

Wash me ye waters

Gushing from His side

Deep in your wounds

Hide and shelter me

So that I may never

Never part from thee

Is now and ever shall be

World without end

To sail that Sea Divine

Let me die lest I not see Your Face."