The Sign of the Cross
by John Henry Newman (1801-1890)

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 ground
Some lonely Saint hails the fresh odor, though
      Its source he cannot know.

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