WHENE’ER across this sinful flesh of mine <br />I draw the Holy Sign, <br />All good thoughts stir within me, and renew <br />Their slumbering strength divine; <br />Till there springs up a courage high and true <br />To suffer and to do. <br /> <br />And who shall say, but hateful spirits around, <br />For their brief hour unbound, <br />Shudder to see, and wail their overthrow? <br />While on far heathen ground <br />Some lonely Saint hails the fresh odor, though <br />Its source he cannot know.<br /><br />John Henry Newman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-sign-of-the-cross-3/
