And brightly once a thousand lamps before thine altars shone;
At the corners of the streets thy Child’s sweet face and thine
Charmed evil out of many hearts and darkness out of mine.
By Peter’s cross and Paul’s sharp sword, dear Mother Mary, pray!
By the dungeon deep where thy S. Luke in weary durance lay;
And by the church thou know’st so well, beside the Latin Gate,
For love of John, dear Mother, stay the hapless city’s fate.
For the exiled Pontiffs sake, our Father and our Lord,
O Mother! bid the angel sheathe his keen avenging sword;
For the Vicar of thy Son, poor exile though he be,