Old Kishon's tide ran red with gore,
Dire was the Pagan rout.
And later, when the Roman's eye
Turned upward in despair,
The Cross, that flickered in the sky,
Made answer to his prayer.
So, Lord, to us Thy suppliants now,
Bend Thou a gracious ear,
And mark, and register the vow
We make before Thee here.