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 odour, though

    Its source he cannot know.


Oxford.
November 25, 1832

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