Processional

Deep in blackness, with no sliver of light,

Radiant angels appear in the sky,

Heads bowed, hands clasped, angels on high!

They travel to the beds of the sick,

Eyes turned to heaven, in holiness rich,

Hands folded, arms outstretched, heads lifted high,

"My God to Thee we pray, to Thee we cry,

These, your children, in grave illness lie.

In weakness they moan, and in pain, they sigh.

Heal them Holy Savior! Lord, bring them peace!

Please cover them with Your love, as they sleep."

A bright angel takes a child's hand to hold.

"Son," he asks, "Do you know it's time to go?"

The boy just smiles because he trusts him so.

The angel lifts him to his shoulder so he can see below.

Softly, as the sun sets the sky on fire,

There rises the sound of a heavenly choir.

Radiant angels appear in the sky,

Heads bowed, hands clasped, angels on high!