America's North Shore Journal

The preachers are out in downtown. A roller church(es) has men on every corner shouting their message and a host of urchins, urchinettes and spousettes out handing out tracts. I feel bad. I was told that I passed up my last chance to be saved. And apparently any day now something is going to happen. Something big.

I’d rather have the panhandlers back. They’re not as aggressive.

I was in a good mood or I’d do what I usually do. One time two Mormon kids came to the door. I was nice. But before I was done, I had picked up the phone and told them that I could have a priest over to the house in minutes and twenty minutes from now they could be baptized Catholics. The boys left rapidly for some reason.

Then I burst in to Faith of Our Fathers and chased them down the street.

Faith of our fathers, living still,
In spite of dungeon, fire and sword;
O how our hearts beat high with joy
Whenever we hear that glorious Word!

Refrain

Faith of our fathers, holy faith!
We will be true to thee till death.

Faith of our fathers, we will strive
To win all nations unto Thee;
And through the truth that comes from God,
We all shall then be truly free.

Refrain

Faith of our fathers, we will love
Both friend and foe in all our strife;
And preach Thee, too, as love knows how
By kindly words and virtuous life.

Refrain

NOTE: Reflecting Faber’s Catholic roots, the original third stanza was:

Faith of our fathers, Mary’s prayers
Shall win our country back to Thee;
And through the truth that comes from God,
England shall then indeed be free.