And hence we learn with reverence to esteem
Of these frail houses, though the grave confines;
Sophist may urge his cunning tests, and deem
That they are earth;—but they are heavenly shrines.
THE SIGN OF THE CROSS
By John Henry Newman
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?
THE SON OF GOD
By Charles L. O'Donnell, C.S.C.
The fount of Mary's joy
Revealed now lies,
For, lo, has not the Boy
His Father's eyes?
