TWENTY-FIFTH DAY
One of the saddest
facts of life is that the living so soon forget the dead. We forget when we
live: we are forgotten when we die.
St. Monica, on her deathbed, pleaded with her son, St Augustine: "Lay my body
anywhere, only
this I beg of you: remember me at the altar of God."
Most merciful Jesus, lover of Souls. We pray Thee, by the agony of Thy most
Sacred Heart, and by
the sorrows of Thy Immaculate Mother, wash with Thy Blood the Souls in
Purgatory. Deliver them
from their pains, that they may join the Heavenly Chorus in praising Thee and
interceding for us at
the hour of need.