Song for the Pope
by Rev. P. Murray, D.D.
A song for the Pope, for the Royal Pope,
Who rules from sea to sea;
Whose kingdom or sceptre never can fail! —
What a grand old king is he!
No Warrior hordes has he, with their swords,
His rock built throne to guard;
For against it the gates of hell shall war
In vain, as they ever have warred.
Oh, never did mightiest monarch yet,
In the days of his power and pride,
Rule as the good old Pontiff rules,
With his Cardinals by his side.
In terror and death is the conqueror’s march,
As the steel tides rise and roll:
But the bonds he binds with are faith and love,
Clasping the heart and soul.
Great dynasties die, like flowers of the field;
Great empires wither and fall;
Glories there have been that blazed to the stars —
There have been, and that is all.
But there is the grand old Roman See,
The ruins of earth among,
Young with the youth of its earliest prime,
With the strength of Peter strong.
The heretic leader rears his head,
And the lie from his poisoned lips
Goes out like a thousand shadows of death,
Black as the black eclipse;
But sure and swift in the destined hour,
The Anathema from on high
Flashes, and down the doomed one falls,
As Lucifer fell from the sky.
Two hundred millions of loyal hearts,
The sheep at the shephard’s voice,
As the tongues of the Angels echo it on
To the ends of the earth, rejoice.
From clime to clime, and throughout all time,
It lives and speaks and thrills,
Away beyond the seas and streams,
Beyond the eternal hills.
Over all the orb, no land more true
Than our own old Catholic land,
Through ages of blood to the rock hath stood,
True may she ever stand.
Oh, ne’er may the star St. Patrick set
On her radiant brow decay;
Hurrah for the grand old Catholic Isle!
For the Grand old Pope, hurra!