As the black smoke clearly indicates, we do not have a new Holy Father. Mind you, I am not sure what I would do if the smoke did come out white!
The woodburning stove is now lit and fills the garden with a wonderful aroma as the smoke ascends. My neighbours will be relieved that the fire does not produce much smoke - in fact it is only noticeable when the fire is newly lit. Once the fire is well-established new logs produce very little smoke.
Full in the panting heart of Rome
Beneath the apostle’s crowning dome.
From pilgrim’s lips that kiss the ground,
Breathes in all tongues one only sound:
GOD BLESS OUR POPE, GOD BLESS OUR POPE,
GOD BLESS OUR POPE, THE GREAT THE GOOD!
The golden roof, the marble walls,
The Vatican’s majestic halls,
The note redoubles, till it fills
With echoes sweet the seven hills
GOD BLESS OUR POPE, GOD BLESS OUR POPE,
GOD BLESS OUR POPE, THE GREAT THE GOOD!
Then surging through each hallowed gate,
Where martyrs glory, in peace await
It sweeps beyond the solemn plain,
Peals over Alps, across the main.
GOD BLESS OUR POPE, GOD BLESS OUR POPE,
GOD BLESS OUR POPE, THE GREAT THE GOOD!
From torrid south to frozen north,
The wave harmonious stretches forth,
Yet strikes no chord more true to Rome’s,
Than rings within our hearts and homes.
GOD BLESS OUR POPE, GOD BLESS OUR POPE,
GOD BLESS OUR POPE, THE GREAT THE GOOD!
Pity there is no tuba on the organ!
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