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Enough the blood of victims flowed of old,
The shadows pass, and legal offerings;
Now higher Ministries, Thou, Lord, dost mold,
On which a holier shade Thy Priesthood flings.

Elias from the Heavens called down the flame;
One Greater than Elias, hid from sight,
Is here, obedient to His awful Name;
Of Him we make the dread memorial Rite.

Great Office, the mysterious Cup to bear,
In which the guilty world’s Salvation lies,
And with our trembling hands, full of deep fear,
To offer up the Bloodless Sacrifice.

Oh, more than all to ancient Prophets given,
More than to Angels, if but understood,
That in our trembling hands the God of Heaven
Doth give Himself to be our Spirits’ Food.

Grant, Christ, that we, fulfilling Thy Commands,
Of Thy blest Presence may approach the Seat,
With hearts by Thee made pure, and holy hands;
May love for Thy dread Altars make us meet.

Son of th’Eternal Father, God above,
May all the world beneath Thy Feet adore,
Who sendest down the Spirit, with Thy Love
Thy Priesthood to anoint for evermore.

Source: Lyra Eucharistica : hymns and verses on the Holy Communion, ancient and modern ; with other poems by Shipley, Orby, 1832-1916

Breathe not his honored name,

Silently keep it.

Hushed be the saddening theme,

In secrecy weep it.

Call not a warmer flow

To eyes that are aching:

Wake not a deeper throe

In hearts that are breaking.

Oh! “tis a placid rest;

Who could deplore it?

Trance of the pure and blest,

Angels watch o’er it!

Sleep of his mortal night,

Sorrow can’t break it;

Heaven’s own morning light

Alone shall awake it.

Noble thy course is run;

Splendour is round it.

Bravely thy fight is won,

Freedom hath crowned it

In the high warfare

Of heaven grown hoary,

Thou art gone like the summer sun,

Shrouded in glory.

Twine, twine the victor’s wreath,

Spirits that meet him!

Sweet songs of triumph breather,

Seraphs that greet him!

From his high resting-place

Who shall him sever?

With his God, face to face,

Leave him forever.

Source: Messenger of the Sacred Heart, 1891.

Athwart the sky dun clouds came drearily:
I saw friends gently lower into earth,
The blessed one who dowered me with birth;
With Christ I seemed in lone Gethsemane,
Who said: This cross of grief, I give to thee.
Of earthly joys, today, how great the dearth!
My faith transforms all sorrows, into mirth,
'Twas hers; she gave Me, thee; give her to Me.

Dear Lord, when I, in Holy Sacrifice,
Thy Precious Blood will shed with mystic knife,
Extinguish with it Purgatory's fire;
Thus aidance give, my mother's soul to rise
From out her prison to eternal life,
To gaze fore'er on Thee, her heart's desire.

Source: Sonnets an other verses, Rev. Fr. Francis A. Gaffney, O.P. 1916

conferred with the formula
«We baptize you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit»

QUESTIONS

First question: Whether the Baptism conferred with the formula «We baptize you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit» is valid?

Second question: Whether those persons for whom baptism was celebrated with this formula must be baptized in forma absoluta?

RESPONSES

To the first question: Negative.

To the second question: Affirmative.

The Supreme Pontiff Francis, at the Audience granted to the undersigned Cardinal Prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, On June 8, 2020, approved these Responses and ordered their publication.

Rome, from the Offices of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, June 24, 2020, on the Solemnity of the Nativity of Saint John the Baptist.

Luis F. Card. Ladaria, S.I.
Prefect

Source: Vatican Press

There are honors high and worthy,
That the world may prize to see,
There are kings before whose scepter,
Proudlings bend their will and knee;
There is power to chain the captives,
or to bid them go released,
But there's one with higher honor,
and with power divine - the priest.

There are hands whose deeds of valor,
or whose works of skill so grand,
Have the world's applaudits challenged,
Meed of praise they could command,
But the works of God's anointed
Higher stand - yes, e'en the least;
He can free sin's helpless captives,
Satan's chains breaks he - the priest.

There are voices at whose summons
Men arise and men obey,
There are voices to whose power,
To Whose charms men homage pay.
But there is a voice whose power
Brings the King from Heaven's feast
To repose upon our altars,
'Tis the voice of him - the priest.

There are years with merit laden,
Years that sweetest joys afford -
They are years of faithful service
In the vineyard of the Lord
Honor highest, power greatest,
Souls absolved, from sin released,
Hands that hold the God of heaven,
Yes, all these can claim - the priest.

Source: Our Young People 1916

Ye would not sit at ease while meek men kneel
Did ye but see His face shine though the veil,
And the unearthly forms that round you steal,
Hidden in beauteous light, splendent or pale
As the rich Service leads. And prostrate faith
Shroudeth her timorous eye, while through the air
Hovers and hands the Spirit's cleansing Breath
In Whitsun shapes o'er each true worshiper.
Deep wreaths of Angels, burning from the East,
Around the consecrated Shrine are braced,
The awful Stone where by fit hands are placed
The Flesh and Blood of the tremendous Feast.
But kneel - the priest upon the Altar-stair
Will bring a blessing out of Sion there.

Source: Poems by Fr. Frederick W. Faber

That such a Power should live and breather, doth seem
A thought from which men fain would be relieved,
A grandeur not to be endured, a dream
Darkening the souls, though it be unbelieved.
August conception! far above king, law,
Or popular right; how calmly doth thou draw
Under thine awful shadow mortal pain,
And joy not mortal! Witness of a need
Deep laid in man, and therefore pierced in vain,
As though thou wert no form that thou shouldst bleed!
While such a power there lives in old man's shape,
Such and so dread, should not his mighty will
And supernatural presence, godlike fill
The air we breathe, and leave us no escape?

Source: Poems by Fr. Frederick W. Faber

Who is she that stands triumphant,
Rock in strength, upon the Rock,
Like some city crowned with turrets,
Braving storm and earthquake shock?
Who is she her arms extending
In blessing o'er a world restored;
All the anthems of creation
Lifting to creation's Lord?

Hers the kingdom, hers the scepter,
Kneel, ye nations, at her feet;
Hers that Truth whose fruit is Freedom;
Light her yoke; her burthen sweet!

As the moon that takes its splendor
From a sun unseen all night,
So from Christ, the Sun of Justice,
Evermore she draws her light.
Hers alone the hands of healing,
The Bread of Life, th'absolving Key;
The Word Incarnate is her Bridegroom,
The Spirit hers, His temple, she.

Hers the kingdom, hers the scepter,
Kneel, ye nations, at her feet;
Hers that Truth whose fruits is Freedom;
Light her yoke; her burthen sweet!

Empires rise and sink like billows;
Their place knoweth them no more:
Glorious as the star of morning
She o'erlooks the wild uproar.
Hers the household all embracing"
Hers the Vine that shadows earth:
Blest thy children, mighty mother,
Safe the stranger at thy hearth;

Hers the kingdom, hers the scepter,
Kneel, ye nations, at her feet;
Hers that Truth whose fruit is Freedom;
Light her yoke; her burthen sweet.

Source: The Holy Family Manual,Sisters of Notre Dame, Ohio 1883

"And the people were waiting for Zachary." St. Luke, i. 21.

As morning breaks or evening shadows steal,
Duties and thoughts throng round the marble stair,
Waiting for Him who burneth incense there,
Till He shall send to bless them as they kneel.
Greater than Aaron is the mighty Priest
Who in that radiant shrine for ever dwells,
Brighter the stones that stud His glowing vest,
And ravishing the music of His bells,
That tinkle as He moves. The golden air
Is filled with motes of joy that dance and run
Through every court, and make the temple one.
-The lamps are lit; 'tis past the hour of prayer,
And through the windows is there lustre thrown,
Deep in the Holy Place the Priest doth watch alone.

Source: Poems by Fr Frederick W. Faber.

"Know you not that your members are the Temple of the Holy Ghost?" I Cor. vi. 19

Come, I have found a Temple where to dwell;
Sealed up and watched by Spirits day and night
Behind the Veil there is a crystal Well.
The glorious cedar pillars sparkle bright,
All gemmed with big and glistening drops of dew,
That work their way from out yon hidden flood
By mystic virtue through the fragrant wood,
Making it shed a faint unearthly smell.
And from beneath the curtain, that doth lie
In rich and glossy folds of various hue,
Soft showers of pearly light run streamingly
Over the chequered floor and pavement blue.
Oh! that our eyes might see that Font of Grace,
But none hath entered yet his own heart's Holy Place.

Source: Poems, Fr. Frederick W. Faber