Lo, he comes, the steps descending,

From the ancient western door;

Four young boys in white attending,

Sway along the flagstone floor:

Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!

Father's here, our spirits soar.

Every eye is turned upon him

To admire his jovial face;

Those who sold the ancient vestments,

See these new clothes in their place,

Whippal's finest, Whippal's finest, Whippal's finest,

 Rich brocade and lots of lace!

Clouds of incense drift around the altar,

Candles burn before the shrine,

Holy words are sung from Parish Psalter,

Whilst he takes the bread and wine.

Blessing everybody, blessing everybody, blessing everybody!

As the Bishop makes the sign!

Yea, Amen, the Mass is ended,

Go in peace, the final phrase is sweet.

Hymns and prayers have all ascended,

Vergers turn off all the heat.

Nine bells now are sounding; Nine bells now are sounding; Nine bells now are sounding;