And at the high altar with me angels discussed

Those echoes that beckon again from our far away home,
To witness the scents of sweet combust;
Those quiet echoes guarding where we roam.

I visited once that mission Church of Rome
In the silent Monterey valley night, where we trust
Those echoes that beckon again from our far away home;

Where chant prayers were sung in antiphonic metronome.
And at the high altar with me angels discussed
Those quiet echoes guarding where we roam.

We read the versio vulgata of Saint Jerome!
Still, its ashes to ashes and dust to dust.
Those echoes that beckon again from our far away home,

Where our incense petitions rise up through the dome,
To the Sapphire throne - Wafting and swirling upwards thrust;
Those quiet echoes guarding where we roam.

And mingled with those Heavenly prayers, have become
Our protection and intercession, right and just.
Those echoes that beckon again from our far away home,
Those quiet echoes guarding where we roam.