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Poem by John Henry Newman


The Sign of the Cross


WHENEER 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. 



                      John Henry Newman


John Henry Newman's other poems:
  1. Opusculum
  2. England
  3. Behind the Veil
  4. Solitude
  5. Flowers without Fruit


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