Pardon, pardon, O my God, for the innumerable souls which are being lost, every day, around us. The devil rushes forth from the abyss, hurrying to make horrible conquests; he excites the infernal band; he exclaims: Souls! souls I let us hasten to ruin souls! — And souls fall like autumn leaves into the eternal abyss.

We also, O my God, we will cry: Souls! souls ! We must have souls, wherewith to acquit the debt of gratitude we have contracted towards Thee; we ask them of Thee by the wounds of Jesus, our Saviour. These adorable wounds cry out to Thee even as so many powerful mouths. The King crowned with thorns demands subjects torn from the devil; we ask them from Thee, together with him and by him, for Thy greater glory, and by the intercession of the most holy Virgin Mary, conceived without sin.

Amen.