REQUIEM MASS

New Zealand Times, Volume XLIII, Issue 9955, 26 April 1918, Page 6

REQUIEM MASS

A SOLEMN, CEREIfIONY

ELOQUENT SERMON BY RECTOR OF ST. PATRICK’S COLLEGE.

One of tho largest congregations ever present at. St. Mary or the Angels Church -fpFthered there yesterday morning, when Solemn Requiem Mass was said for the repose of those who fell during the landing -at Gallipoli. His Grace Archbishop o’Shf,a was celebrant,- the Rev Father Mahoney, S.M., was deacon, the Rev. Fattier Hoare, S.M., sub-deacon, and the Rev. Father Hurley, S.M., Master' of Ceremonies. Tile Mass was beautifully and impressively sung hy a choir from St. Patrick’s College, and included the ‘‘Dies Irae.” Tho ceremony'was deeply impressive all through. Tho Rev, Father Gilbert, S.M., Rector of St. Patrick’s College, _ preached an impressive sermon, and stirred his hearers with his eloquence. He took his text from tho offertory of the for the Dead as follows:—“Wo offer to Thee, 0 Lord, sacrifices and prayers; do Thou receive them on behalf of thost(souk whom we commemorate this day. Grant them, O Lord, to pass from death to that life which Thou didst promise to Abraham and to his seed of old.”

“Wo are met to-day,” said the preacher, “to honour the memory of our bravo dead. We are met to-day to pray for their' souls, and to offer to the Lord our God a united sacrifice that He may show them mercy in their hour of need. For nearly four long years has this ghastly war been littering destruction broadcast over the earth, till the whole world-machinery has got tangled and chaos is writ large over its mangled mass. For. God has scourged tho world with war, and men are smitten with fear. Ho has poured out over mankind the seven-vials of His wrath, and in the shock of war Empires have reeled and thrones been levelled with the dust; and even now nations lie prostrate with their life’s blood oozing away. Even 1 we, in those uttermost isles of the son., have had to tread the winepress of tho wrath of God. Our garments, too, are dyed red, for the blood of the nation lias been spilled. As a nation, wo have had to go down into the Valley of tho Shadow of Death, and come out again with blood dripping 'from our battle scars —blood of the hoy you fathered, blood of the hoy you mothered, blood of the boys we loved and taught. All up and down, and through and through these once peaceful isles has tho keening and tho wailing been heard; Rachel, for her children mourning because they are not. Men of wealth : men of golden hope; men. of courage and athletic prowess;, men of virtue true and tried; all have fallen before the sickle of the relentless one, and well might we a even wc, on this distacl shore of timo,' take up the plaint of the Israelites of old, and cry out: ‘How are they fallen, ’ yea, my mighty ones, fallen oven in battle.’ SAORED MEMORIES.

“But my brethren, to-day is not a day for mourning over the past. Anzac Day belongs to history, and the Anzac hero needs no tears. Blunder as the venture might have been, tragedy as it was, it is yet a venture round which are clustered the most saorod memories of our people. Wo are a young nation with a future yet to, weave, but into the warp and woof, of oifr history will be woven golden memories of bravo deeds dbno in the years of the nation’s youth—for Anzac moans bravery, endurance, plufck, alnd love greater than which no man hath, for those men laid down their lives, for their, friends. “In the opening days of tho great war, when the wholo nation’s pulse Quickened at tho thought of outraged tho whole nation’s mind burned rod with indignation at tho thought of truth and honour torn into nil reds, when tho .whole nation’s soul was roused from its lethargy at tho thought of force triumphant, no braver man stopped forth than tho young New Zealander, a. veritable giant emror to win his way. No nobler mind burned with a more-righteous indignation than the mind of tho young New Zea-

lander. No loftier soul than his made honour "its quest. For these, men believed in the justice of their cause. They men, with life’s banquet spread before, them, and yet they of thiVr own will chose the risks and alarms of war, for they felt convinced they fought for right and justice. In the spirit of tho old-time chivalry these Anzac warriors rose in their freedom, and fought, and. oled, and died in quest of their own Holy Grail. Let officials and blundering politicians hear the . blame of , their failure, but tho glory of the honour rests with our men. For there’ on tho bleak, rugged hillside where Assyrian and Persian. Trojan and Greek, Pathan and Roman(, Tartar and Turk (Christian and heathen), had fought and bled, whore the 'very soil, was sacred with legend and tradition and rich with memories of times long past. Here at the gateway of the East and the West, these sons of tho world’s youngest nation proved themselves the bravest of tbe bravo. At a bound they leaped into the front rank of the warriors of all times, and clothed their own nation’s limbs with a robe of fame and victory. ‘They, these Anzac boys,’ wrote the poet John Masefield, ‘were the finest body of young men ever brought together in modern times. For physical ■beauty and nobility of bearing they surpassed any men I have ever seen; they walked and looked like kings in old rooms, and reminded me of the line o F Sh akospeare: “Baited like eagles having lately bathed.” ’ UNDAUNTED TO THE END. “In the midst of privations untold, in the mire and the filth, under a blazing sun, or tho frost cf a Gallipoli bight, in hunger and in thirsty in tho midst of a hideous hell of noise and fire and sickness and pain, these men never flinched nor yielded, nor yet lost their buoyancy of heart, but stuck un daunted to their post, though they knew that many of them would be mangled, blinded or broken, lamed, made imbecile or disfigured, with the colour and the taste of life taken from them, so that they would never more move with comrades nor exult in the sun. Those things they bore in silent patience, till death seemed relaxation and a mound a luxury. But no, wrote again John Masefield, ‘these things were but tho end they asked, tho reward they had come for, the unseen cross upon the breast. All that they felt was a gladness of exultation that their young courage was to be, used. They went like kings in a pageant to tho imminent death.’ ‘All was beautiful in that gladness of men about to die, but the most moving thing was the . greatness of their generous hearts.’

THE LESSON THEY HAVE TAUGHT “ ‘Tlio greatness of their, generous hearts,’ yes, and pluck, and endurance, and. hope, and trust, and love and the bearing, of one another’s burdens, the beatitude of toil and want, to tench us these did the Anzaca bleed and die. And , to-day,, from . the storied land whoro their hones lie bleaching, their voices are calling over the sea.:—‘Von will he a nation great and honoured among men when tou learn ,the lesson wo have taught- When you learn that justice is above party interest, when . you learn that charity thinketh no ill, is patient, is kind; when you learn to live together in peace and a-mity, even as we died together; when you learn as a nation to believe that above us all —kings and prophets, and peasants —there reigns a God, in whose keeping is your destiny.’ ‘Bnt go ye flown into the narrow by-way of factions, barter your honour and- your faith for filthy gain, make selfishness yonr god, and war profits your patriotism—then wo aro not of von, for yous have grown craven and mercenary and unprincipled, and have forgotten the lessons for which we died.’ , ~ . “Anzao. if it is to moan anything to ns as a nation, must be a trumpet-call to loam the lessons for which our brave men have died —that might is hot right—that, minorities have rights oven as small nations have; that true patriotism is based on justice and charity. That our obligations to ourselves, to our follow-men, and to God are moro than scraps of paper. 'lf as a nation wo learn those lessons, our bravo men shall not have died in vain. TRAVERS FOR THE DEAD. “Wo aro mot boro to-day to olfor a united prayer and sacrifice to God for tho repose of the souls of our brethren

who have fallen in the war. It is the greatest measure of charity we can do. We are Catholics, with the faith and belief that our prayers may help our dead. "Whether they die in the trench or die on the sea, we know they have not passed beyond our ken. Even should our friends in their charity call our belief a superstition, wo Catholics will forgive our friends, if so it be we may still pray unmolested for our dead. For amidst all this present crash of empire against empire, amid all the rout of tottering thrones and fugitive kings, amid all the shrieks of war, and the cruel agonies of slaughtered armies, there rings out clearer than any battle-cry Christ’s message of hope and comfort to the Christian sou), ‘I arii the Insurrection and the Life. Thy dead shall live, my slain shall rise again. Awake, ye that dwell in the dust and give praise.’ ‘We shall all indeed rise again . . . for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall rise again incorruptible,’ says the Scripture. . . . ‘And when this mortal hath put on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written, ‘Death is swallowed up in victory. O Death, where is thy victory? O' Death, where is thy sting?’ “THE CHARTERS OF OUR FAITH.”

”Thi s hope in Christ’s-promise is the charter of onr faith. Pray therefore for the souls of your slain. You may not wish to go to war—you mtfy not approve of war—but no matter what your' political creed, no matter what your social standing,’-you have, as Catholics, a duty to your Catholic dead. Surely, at a time like this, all charity has not grown cold, nor are the wells of pity dried 1 This Anzao Day brings an appeal to you—an appeal that should stir your souls to their very depths. You listen and take no heed. The voice of your son is calling to you, and the voice of your brother and of your friend. It is your own flesh, your own blood that calls as deep calleth unto deep. Has the mother forgotten her son, and we the companion, of our youth ? Surely not yet—-not yet! Therefore let your voices rise ever in constant, earnest prayer for the souls of your dead, that ‘the Lord may be mindful of his servants who have gone before us with the sign of faith, and slumber in the sleep of Peace 1’ ‘‘And while you remember the dead, forget not yet the living—the boys who are fighting in France and Palestine—for they, too, are your own kith and kin., and the hour of their peril is ever near; pray God to have them, too, in safekeeping, to guard them from all harm, <and bring them back again to their own homeland. “My brethren, on this, the third anniversary of the landing of New Zealand troops on Gallipoli peninsula, we salute them—brave men and true of our own race. May the fame of their gallant deeds never fade from the minds of men; may their names Be held in benediction, and their memories cherished from generation unto generation; and may their souls and the souls of all the faithful find peace and rest with God. Amen!”