Impóne, Dómine, cápiti meo gáleam salútis…
Bless you, Father, for you were there.
In the shadow of my burnt-out home,
embers taunting about the air.
In the cold of my midnight cell,
my brokenness, my shame,
impossible to hide,
impossible to bear.
At the back of the rig on which I leaned,
as I had nothing left in me,
nothing more to give,
nothing still to be.
Bless you, Father.
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Dealba me, Dómine, et munda cor meum.
Bless you, Father, for you came,
when all the world withdrew, withheld,
simply walked away.
You sat down, remained.
You listened, prayed,
and heard that harrowing silence
that only haunts the brave.
Bless you, Father.
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Praecínge me, Dómine, cíngulo puritátis.
Bless you, Father, and thy sacred hands.
Wizened by time.
Hallowed by chrism.
Those hands that held aloft the salvator mundi.
Those hands, large enough to hold the whole world,
outstretched, wounded,
much like His.
Into thy hands I commend what I had broken.
Hands formed of the sod of Leitrim.
Hands meant to polish, bless.
Thine were the hands reaching up from rubble.
Hands that saw and punted Death.
Bless you, Father.
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Redde mihi, Dómine, stolam immortalitátis.
Bless you, Father, for night draws near.
And like the sea, too cold to care,
too vast to see them drowning
in the wake of ships too near to flee.
Yet, like Him who dared tread Galilee,
you braved The Pestilence in search of me.
Alter Christus.
Reaching out into the hearts of Men,
until, at last, you saw the end.
The End.
Lord, take me where You want me to go,
let me see who You want me to see.
Engine 73 & Ladder 42.
So you were led to them in need,
to them who cried and bled
and knew
that they, one day —
one day soon…
for greater love hath no man than this.
Bless you, Father.
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…ab omni vínculo delictórum.
—J. Anthony McAlister
11 September 2026
A.M.D.G.
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What a lovely tribute; it brought me to tears.