Whilst in Oxford today, I came across this gem of a poem by John Henry Newman. Is surely makes one ponder what can happen when making the Sign of the Cross!
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.
No comments:
Post a Comment