The harvest is ready, Father,
but the laborers, they are few;
open my house to the workers.

I have labored, Father, alone,
bring to me, Father, laborers;
the meek and the humble.

So Stockbridge be rebuilt,
by the hands of my house;
to carry forth the image of Your Son.

Establish in me The Divine Mercy,
for I lay down justice at Your feet;
and ask, Father, to pick up mercy.

The fruits that I bring You,
these are born from pain;
unlike the fruits of Alar.

And faith, hope, charity,
in a state of perpetual grace;
be the mark of this new Church.

For in these, Father,
our labors, they are justified;
and in love,
the raspberry is made plump.

Magnify this household, Father,
as Anonymous;
the secret weapon of Your Son.

To bring forth Faustina's seed,
unto the fullness of the fruit.

©2026 Sayori Yǔ