I thought I'd wrap up this short series of religious poems with one by the Blessed John Henry Newman ... he is a favourite of mine. Indeed, I think he is rather of favourite of Catholics & Anglo-Catholics (and many others besides). If he does make it through the canonisation process, which pray God he will, then I suspect there will be a battle royale for various groupings to have him declared their patron saint!
WHENE'ER across this sinful flesh of mineI draw the Holy Sign,
All good thoughts stir within me, and renew
Their slumbering strength divine;
Till there springs up a courage high and true
To suffer and to do.
And who shall say, but hateful spirits around,
For their brief hour unbound,
Shudder to see, and wail their overthrow?
While on far heathen ground
Some lonely Saint hails the fresh odour, though
Its source he cannot know.