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.