"Go, holy dust, 'gainst all the winds that fly.
No sorceress, but a Christian true am I.
By the lamp's light, when I the fire had lit,
In God's own house, my hands collected it.
"You from the statues of the saints I swept,
And silken flags, still on the pillars kept,
And the dark tombs, of those whose sons neglect,
But you, with your white winding-sheet protect.
"Go, holy dust! To stem the winds depart!
Born beneath Christian feet, thou glorious art: