Innuendo

O Come To Father Philip's Cell

The Boy's Of Rome They Know It Well!

A former monk remembered the salacious glee expressed by Abbot Brogan as he on occasions paraphrased and parodied this hymn.

Saint Philip’s Death.

Day set on Rome! its golden morn
Had seen the world’s Creator borne
Around St. Peter’s square
Trembling and weeping all the way,
God’s Vicar with his God that day
Made pageant brave and rare!

O, come to Father Philip’s cell,
Rome’s rank and youth, they know it well,
Come ere the moment flies!
The feast hath been too much for him
His heart is full, his eye is dim,
And Rome’s Apostle dies!

Come, O Creator Spirit! come,
Take Thine elect unto his home,
Thy chosen one, sweet dove!
"Come to thy rest,” he hears Thee say;
He waits not - he hath passed away
In mortal trance of love.

When Rome in deepest slumber slept,
Our father’s children knelt and wept
Around his little bed;
He raised his eyes, then let them fall
With marked expression upon all;
He blessed them, and was dead.

 One half from earth, one half from heaven,
Was that mysterious blessing given;
Just as his life had been
One half in heaven, one half on earth,
Of earthly toil and heavenly mirth
A wondrous woven scene!

 O Jesus, Mary, Joseph, bide,
With kind Saint Raphael, by my side
When death shall come for me;
And, Philip leave me not that day
But. let my spirit pass away,
Leaning, dear Sire, on thee.

(Father Faber)