At Mass

No doubt to-morrow I will hide
  My face from you, my King.
  Let me rejoice this Sunday noon,
  And kneel while gray priests sing.

It is not wisdom to forget.
  But since it is my fate
  Fill thou my soul with hidden wine
  To make this white hour great.

My God, my God, this marvelous hour
  I am your son I know.
  Once in a thousand days your voice
  Has laid temptation low.