O patron saint of wayfarers,
This traveller from distant lands
Comes home and kneels before your shrine,
A suppliant with uplifted hands.

Grant me a lodging in your shade,
And peace, and shelter from the rain,
A bed with smooth white sheets, a fire,
Till on my way I fare again.

As votive gift accept these flowers
—Gethsemane once nourished them—
This handful of grey earth, this spray
Of olive from Jerusalem.

O patron saint of wayfarers
And beggars, grant that I, who sue
For shelter as a wayfarer,
May never come a beggar, too.