1. Moscow Conference

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  2. Rome 2017

    Rome 2017
  3. Fatima Portugal

    Fatima Portugal 2017
  4. Ask Father

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Watch of the Angel

      There was no sound in the hospital
      Save the din of machines:
      The respirators and stomach pumps
      And other medical things;

      The patients lay tethered to monitors
      Tubes in their arms or throats;
      The nurses sat with coffee cups
      Writing their copious notes.

      In a cold grey room of the ICU,
      A woman suffered alone,
      Abandoned by her friends who had
      Brought candy and gone home.

      Unseen by man, the angel stood
      Clothed in resplendent light;
      He gazed at her who lay so still,
      She who would die that night.

      Awake, dear child, he said to her,
      (For she was not old to him)
      Contemplate the truth I speak
      Before thy faculties dim:

      I was sent by Almighty God
      To guide thee here below
      In what thou must believe and do
      For the salvation of thy soul;

      Throughout thy life I've been with thee
      And never left thy side;
      Yet over all these seventy years
      I could not pierce thy pride.

      God has granted thee long life;
      But this hour is the last
      For thee to embrace His Sacred Heart,
      Beg pardon for thy past;

      That thou shouldst gain Eternal Life
      St. Peter's Barque waits nigh,
      Our Lord invites thee, Enter now;
      He calls thee from on high.

      The angel spoke, the woman groaned,
      She raised her weary head,
      Why do you say such things to me?
      I'm going to Heaven, she said.

      All paths lead to God, you know,
      No one road is true,
      Salvation takes many forms;
      You do what's right for you.

      The woman turned, she closed her eyes,
      She did not wish to speak,
      Nor would she condescend to hear
      The truth she did not seek.

      The angel sighed, he bowed his head,
      He called her patron saint,
      Who came at once to join him as
      The woman's pulse grew faint.

      The Beata knelt by the bed,
      She cried to Heaven above:
      O, Jesus Christ, O Holy God,
      Save this one I love!

      By Thy Most Sacred Wounds, O Lord,
      Touch this stubborn heart,
      Give her true hope and Catholic Faith
      Before her soul departs;

      Lest she perish evermore,
      Lost in Gehenna's flame,
      Grant her humble penitence
      And the grace to call Thy Name.

      The doctor telephoned her son:
      There's nothing we can do;
      But soft and low, the angel heard
      One sweet sound: Jesu.

      The woman struggled then to pray,
      Tears filled her eyes:
      Forgive me, Lord, I caused those Wounds;
      I didn't realize ...

      A moment more, her soul had flown
      To meet the Crucified,
      She left the room, the town, the earth,
      The angel at her side.

      — Susan Claire Potts