THE SIGN OF THE CROSS
By John Henry Newman
Whene’er across this sinful flesh of mineI draw the Holy Sign,All good thoughts stir within me, and renewTheir slumbering strength divine;Till there springs up a courage high and trueTo suffer and to do.And who shall say, but hateful spirits around,For their brief hour unbound,Shudder to see, and wail their overthrow?While on far heathen groundSome lonely Saint hails the fresh odour, thoughIts source he cannot know?
Whene’er across this sinful flesh of mineI draw the Holy Sign,All good thoughts stir within me, and renewTheir slumbering strength divine;Till there springs up a courage high and trueTo suffer and to do.And who shall say, but hateful spirits around,For their brief hour unbound,Shudder to see, and wail their overthrow?While on far heathen groundSome lonely Saint hails the fresh odour, thoughIts source he cannot know?
Whene’er across this sinful flesh of mineI draw the Holy Sign,All good thoughts stir within me, and renewTheir slumbering strength divine;Till there springs up a courage high and trueTo suffer and to do.
Whene’er across this sinful flesh of mine
I draw the Holy Sign,
All good thoughts stir within me, and renew
Their slumbering strength divine;
Till there springs up a courage high and true
To suffer and to do.
And who shall say, but hateful spirits around,For their brief hour unbound,Shudder to see, and wail their overthrow?While on far heathen groundSome lonely Saint hails the fresh odour, thoughIts source he cannot know?
And who shall say, but hateful spirits around,
For their brief hour unbound,
Shudder to see, and wail their overthrow?
While on far heathen ground
Some lonely Saint hails the fresh odour, though
Its source he cannot know?