AMPHORA 
XII 
 
 
E still !  before the altar gates 
 The incense steam aspires ; 
The priest of JESUS stands and waits 
At those consuming fires ; 
The grey cathedral dominates 
Our pitiful desires. 
 
O Mary !  of Thy Motherhood 
To all Thy worshippers, 
Bring us to Thy beatitude 
Whose sweet impulsion stirs 
The soul lethargic unto good, 
The slaves to ministers ! 
 
Our Lady, sorrowful and sweet, 
Thy precious gift bestow ! 
Thy holy spouse the PARACLETE 
Breathe down on us below 
That all the chrism be complete, 
Thy servants pure as snow ! 
B 
16