Classic Poem

Now, while before your relics
Our prayers and incense rise,
Look down, ye Saints of Heaven!
And help us from the skies.

What though in dismal ruin
Your bones so long have lain,
Yet still sublimest virtues
E'en in their dust remain:

Still in these holy temples
The Spirit makes His home;
Reserving them for glory
In ages yet to come:

Whence from beneath the altar
They yet exert their might,
Subduing death and sickness,
And putting Hell to flight.

O Christ, our Judge immortal,
Through all the worlds, to Thee
All glory with the Father
And Holy Spirit be.