To put my hesitant footsteps in your footsteps, Please, Bernadette, lend me your clogs.

They are for me, at the same time, symbols of good sense, spirit of poverty and simplicity. You know very well, alas, that I lack all of this. Please, Bernadette, lend me your clogs.

You went to gather wood that would kindle the flame that brings men together and conforts them. May I too re-rekindle the hearts of those seeking, silence, or words, or a smile, or a helping hand. Please, Bernadette, lend me your clogs.

And should they be too small, may they make me modest. In the knowledge that as I go forward I have limitations, my steps are small, I stumble and rise again. Please, Bernadette, lend me your clogs.

To go towards Mary with more confidence, To discover the living water offered to those who thirst. To go to the table where bread is freely give, Please, Bernadette, lend me your clogs.

To go towards the Father who awaits and loves me. To take part in the feast at the end of the road After having walked, carrying my joys and sorrows, Asking you at all times to take me by the hand, Please, Bernadette, lend me your clogs.”