Hear ye not the spirits’ moaning
From the depths of cleansing fire?
Know ye not the burning anguish
Of these souls — their hearts’ desire?
Hear them cry in bitter sorrow,
Sighing, weeping in their pains,
While they call on us who love them,
“Break our heavy prison chains!”
Though their lives on earth were holy,
And their virtue manifest,
Yet some stains of imperfection
Still prevent their perfect rest.
And they weep in mournful numbers,
Pleading for our fervent pray’r,
OH, take pity on their sorrow,
Let their solace be your care.
Place your pray’r, your pious off’ring
For these suffering souls, so poor,
In the hands of our dear Mother,
Of sweet Mary Virgin pure.
With a mother’s love and mercy
She will lead them to her son;
And their pain shall turn to glory
There, before the Heav’nly throne.