With eyes, tear-dimmed, that, straining, gaze along
The future’s ways the past o’ershades with wrong;
That dread the glitter of this earthly night,
Where every star is rivet of a cross.
Still in the light of Child-blessed Bethlehem
We feel the portent of Jerusalem,
We hear the echoes of sad Rama’s loss.
In thee we trust, and in her, crucified,
Our holy mother Rome, thy spouse divine,
In whose dear face eternal light doth shine,