Kyrie! Lo, our God comes,
Mankind to save from ill and bless:
What grateful joy should break our gloom
And fill our hearts with happiness!
Kyrie eleison!—God is born!
A virgin mother gives him birth;
And sin's dark bonds asunder torn,
Sweet heaven again inclines to earth.
Kyrie!—hear!—the sacred font
Pours forth its saving waters free—
And Thou impressest on our front
The sign that drives our foes away.
Christe!—anointed victim!—Thou,
Who in thy death bestowest life—
The healing remedy for woe—
Ah! earth with many a woe is rife.
Christe eleison!—brother dear—
Our liberator from all ill—
Strong in Thy virtue, free from fear,
And be our help to virtue still.
Christe eleison! God and man—
Our only consolation here—
Oh! do not leave us 'neath the ban
Of sorrow perilous and drear.
Oh! Kyrie, Father—Kyrie Son—
Kyrie Spirit—we adore
The Triune God—Thee, only One!
Grant we may praise Thee evermore!
Silence reigned in the room some moments after the last sound had died away, and then arose a murmur of admiration, and the young girl was overwhelmed with felicitations.
Whilst being thus complimented, Mary noticed Geronimo at a little distance from her. Desirous, perhaps, of escaping the praises lavished upon her, or, it may be, yielding to a real desire, she approached the young man, drew him towards the piano, and insisted upon his singing an Italian aria.