4. O Spirit of Grace, Thou Consoler divine, See how for Thy presence they longingly pine, To lift, to enliven their sadness, descend; And fill them with peace and with joy in the end.
Father Faber From a Slovak Hymnal Arr. by N. A. M.
1. O turn to Jesus, Mother! Turn, And call Him by His tenderest names; Pray for Holy Souls that burn This hour amid the cleansing flames.
2. Ah! They have fought a gallant fight; In death's cold arms they persevered; And after life's uncherry night, The arbour of their rest is neared.
3. They are the children of thy tears; Then hasten, Mother, to their aid; In pity think each hour appears An age while glory is delayed.
4. O Mary, let thy Son no more His lingering Spouses thus expect: God's children to their God restore, And to the Spirit His elect.
5. Pray, then, as thou hast ever prayed; Angels and souls, all look to thee; God waits thy pray'rs, for He hath made Those pray'rs His law of charity.
Recessional Rt. Rev. Msgr. H. T. Henry, Litt. D. Nicola A. Montani
1. Unto him, for whom, this day; Juste judex ultionis We in love and pity pray; Donum fac remissionis
Refrain Pie Jesu Domine, Dona ei requiem.
2. When at Judgement he shall stand, Rex tremendae majestatis, Grant him what Thy love hath planned, Qui salvandos salvas gratis.
3. He hath fought the gallant fight Inter oves locum praesta, Lead Him on to Heaven's light Statuens in parte dextra.
1. Out of the depths to Thee, O Lord, I cry, Lord! Gracious turn Thine ear to suppliant sigh; If sins of men Thou scann'st, who may stand That searching eye of Thine, and chast'ning hand?
2. Oh, bear our pray'rs and sighs, Redeemer blest, And grant Thy holy souls eternal rest And let perpetual light upon them shine; For tho' not spotless, still these souls are Thine.
3. To be appeased in wrath, dear Lord, is Thine; Thou mercy with Thy justice canst combine; Thy blood our countless stains can wash away: This is Thy, law our hope and steadfast stay.
4. This God Himself shall come from Heav'n above, The Christ! The God of mercy and of love! He comes, He comes! The God Incarnate He! And by His glorious death makes all men free!
Bernard of Cluny J. Grabowski Translated by J. M. Neale Arr. by N. A. M.
1. Jerusalem the Golden, With milk and honey blest, Beneath thy contemplation Sink heart and voice opprest; I know not--Oh, I know not What joys await us there; What radiancy of glory, What bliss beyond compare.
