These, with monotonous swish of slow waves, blending with notes of leaf-hid birds, seem miserere and requiem.
"Oswald Langdon" by Carson Jay Lee
Miserere nostri Domine, miserere nostri.
"The St. Gregory Hymnal and Catholic Choir Book" by Various
The boy was very much impressed by the music of the "Miserere," and when he left the Chapel asked where he could get a copy of it.
"Historic Boyhoods" by Rupert Sargent Holland
Most of these misereres have exquisite conventional flowers (especially roses) cut upon them in addition to the figure-subjects.
"Bell's Cathedrals: The Cathedral Church of Ripon" by Cecil Walter Charles Hallett
Besides these they sang also a 'Miserere,' and last of all, 'Requiem eternam dona eis.
"Casa Braccio, Volumes 1 and 2 (of 2)" by F. Marion Crawford
Her wailing Miserere shall be turned into a joyful Te Deum.
"Complete Story of the San Francisco Horror" by Richard Linthicum
Shall we try de 'Miserere' from 'Il Trovatore?
"Dorothy's Triumph" by Evelyn Raymond
While they stood there, outside the prison, the "Miserere" was dolorously chanted.
"Operas Every Child Should Know" by Mary Schell Hoke Bacon
Olive knew no more prayers in Latin, but her cousin began the Miserere.
"Olive in Italy" by Moray Dalton
Misereres, their use, 39.
"Notes and Queries, Index of Volume 5, January-June, 1852" by Various
Thus fell Harold, bracelet-giver;
Jesu rest his soul for ever;
Angles all from thrall deliver;
"The Swan-Neck" by Charles Kingsley
And the lightning showed the sainted
Figures on the casement painted,
And exclaimed the shuddering baron,
"The Norman Baron" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
On childing women that are forelorn,
And men that sweat in nothing but scorn:
That is on all that ever were born,
"Heretics All" by Hilaire Belloc
O'er my poor ANNA'S lowly grave
No dirge shall sound, no knell shall ring;
But angels, as the high pines wave,
Their half-heard "Miserere" sing.
"The Spirit Of Discovery" by William Lisle Bowles
"Yet must you sleep the while it stayeth here."
Right so they went away, and I, being weary,
Slept long and dream'd of Heaven: the bell comes near,
I doubt it grows to morning. Miserere!
"Sir Galahad, A Christmas Mystery" by William Morris