O, this praise, fresh from clay inherited -
Soiled since last dissent, by one voice changed
To mirrored joy, praised for your true assent
By your Son's cross his death our life exchanged.
Quite many ordered deaths of our years
Oppressed by storm-bent calumny - and tears
Of lost nature, lost till one voice shines forth
Alternating the dark billows of the torrid shores.
"Let our music be
The counting cadence of responsorials -
Staggered across the watch of hours -
Whispered on the attuned vestibule;
Peace be the dormition of selfless and
Acquired provisions."
If you died today, are you absolutely certain that you would go to heaven? You can be! TRUST JESUS NOW
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