Help us to help the Vicar, Lord,
By keeping all things clean,
Removing dirt from girdle cord,
So not a speck is seen.

Oh may we wash his alb snow white,
And iron each single pleat,
So that when worn it hangeth right,
An inch above his feet.

The altar linen must be pure
And free from every stain;
We use a virgin's ancient cure,
So that no marks remain.

The folds we make are quite precise
On corporal and veil;
We follow Dearmer's sage advice
When pressing lace that's frail.

The scent of incense in the cloth
Is difficult to shift,
But not as bad as balls for moth -
We trust you get the drift.

As Sacristans we keep our head
When some are losing theirs,
We trim the candles, count the bread,
And order all the wares.

Without our skills the Mass would fail
For want of what's required,
And if the Sacratinta's stale,
We soon would be retired.

©Pharisaios 2002

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