O, for a kindling touch of that pure flame
Which taught the offering of song to rise
From thy lone bower, beneath Italian skies,
Great Filicaia!— With celestial aim
It rose,—thy saintly rapture to proclaim,
Then, when the imperial city stood released
From bondage threatened by the embattled East,
And Christendom respired; from guilt and shame
Redeemed,—from miserable fear set free
By one day’s feat—one mighty victory.
—Chaunt the Deliverer’s praise in every tongue!
The cross shall spread,—the crescent hath waxed dim,—
He conquering—as in Earth and Heaven was sung—
He conquering through God, and God by him.