And list! he begins That psalm for sins, The first of the mournful seven; Plaintive and soft It rises aloft, Begging the mercy of Heaven To pity and forgive, For the sake of those who live, The dead who have died unshriven. Miserere! Miserere! Still your heart and hush your breath! The voices of despair and death Are shuddering through the psalm! Miserere! Miserere! Lift your hearts! the terror dies! Up in yonder sinless skies The psalms sound sweet and calm! Miserere! Miserere! Very low, in tender tones, The music pleads, the music moans, "I forgive and have forgiven, The dead whose hearts were shriven." De profundis! De profundis! Psalm of the dead and disconsolate! Thou hast sounded through a thousand years, And pealed above ten thousand biers; And still, sad psalm, you mourn the fate Of sinners and of just, When their souls are going up to God, Their bodies down to dust. Dread hymn! you wring the saddest tears From mortal eyes that fall, And your notes evoke the darkest fears That human hearts appall! You sound o'er the good, you sound o'er the bad, And ever your music is sad, so sad, We seem to hear murmured in every tone, For the saintly a blessing; for sinners a curse. Psalm, sad psalm! you must pray and grieve Over our dead on this Christmas eve. De profundis! De profundis! And the night chants the psalm o'er the mortal clay, And the spirits immortal from far away, To the music of hope sing this sweet-toned lay. You think of the dead on Christmas eve, Wherever the dead are sleeping, And we from a land where we may not grieve Look tenderly down on your weeping. You think us far, we are very near, From you and the earth, though parted; We sing to-night to console and cheer The hearts of the broken-hearted. The earth watches over the lifeless clay Of each of its countless sleepers, And the sleepless spirits that passed away Watch over all earth's weepers. We shall meet again in a brighter land, Where farewell is never spoken; We shall clasp each other in hand, And the clasp shall not be broken; We shall meet again, in a bright, calm clime, Where we'll never know a sadness, And our lives shall be filled, like a Christmas chime, With rapture and with gladness. The snows shall pass from our graves away, And you from the earth, remember; And the flowers of a bright, eternal May, Shall follow earth's December. When you think of us think not of the tomb Where you laid us down in sorrow; But look aloft, and beyond earth's gloom, And wait for the great to-morrow. And the pontiff, Night, with his star-stole on, Whispereth soft and low: Requiescat! Requiescat! Peace! Peace! to every one For whom we grieve this Christmas eve, In their graves beneath the snow.