Come, virgins chaste; pure brides, draw near:
Let Earth exult and Heaven hear
The Hymn that grateful accents raise,
Our song of joy in Rita’s praise.
By fast her sinless frame is weak;
Her livid flesh the scourges streak.
In pity for her Savior’s woes,
Her days and even nights are closed.
The thorn-wound on her brow is shown,
The crimson rose in winter blown,
And full-ripe figs on frozen tree
At Rita’s wish the wonders see.
Praise to the Father and the Son,
Praise to the Spirit, Three in One;
O grant us grace in heaven to reign
Through Rita’s prayer and life-long pain.
Thou hast signed thy servant Rita
With the sign of thy Love and Passion.
O God! who didst deign to confer on St. Rita for imitating Thee in love of her enemies, the favor of bearing her heart and brow the marks of Thy Love and Passion, grant we beseech Thee, that through her intercession and merit, we may, pierced by the thorns of compunction, ever contemplate the sufferings of Thy Passion, who livest and reignest forever and ever. Amen.
This is the translation of the hymn of Lauds, office of Saint Rita, approved by Decree of S.C.R. 24
In this hymn to St. Rita, what most speaks to my heart? Why? If this were God’s word for me, what would be my response to Him?
At some point in the midst of my fifty-hour-a-week job and twenty-hour-a-weekend writing schedule, God somehow managed to get my attention. This story is for all those ordinary people who think a miracle could never happen to them. The “Red Sea” doesn’t part for secretaries and waitresses, but only for the few, the chosen, the holy–or so most of us think. Read on! As impossible as it might sound, a miracle happened to me, and it did so when I was about as holy as Lady Gaga.