At last the red cock flaps his wings,
To trumpet of a day new born.
The lark, awaking, soaring, sings
Into the bosom of the morn.

The priest before the altar stands
He hears the spirit call for peace;
He beats his breast with shaking hands.
"Oh, Father, grant this soul's release.

Most Just and Merciful, set free
From Purgatory's awful night
This sinner's soul, to fly to Thee
And rest forever in Thy sight."

The Mass is over--still the clerk
Kneels pallid in the morning glow.
He said, "From evils of the dark
Oh, bless me, father, ere you go.

"Benediction, that I may rest,
For all night did the banshee weep."
The priest raised up his hands and blest--
"Go now, my child, and you will sleep."

The priest went down the vestry stair,
He laid his vestments in their place,
And turned--a pale ghost met him there
With beads of pain upon his face.