"Alban smiles at his friends good humor. "I don't know how the light will take a prayer for that, but I can't blame you for asking." He considers for a moment,
"Hail, holy Queen,
mother of mercy,
our life, our sweetness,
and our hope.
To thee do we cry,
poor banished children of Eve.
To thee do we send up our sighs, mourning
and weeping in this valley of tears.
Turn then, most gracious advocate,
thine eyes of mercy toward us,
and after this our exile
show unto us the blessed fruit of thy womb..." He intones softly.
"Something I vaguely remember from an old prayer book that might apply with a little work. Do let me know if it works for you," he adds with a rakish grin.