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Thy Church, O conquering God! through all the earth,

Begs Thee to crown with the saint’s royal crown,

A virgin, martyr, warrior, whose true worth

In heaven’s high courts e’en now hath won renown.

Our tumults calm;

Her cause advance!

The halo and the palm

Give unto Jeanne of France!

For guilty France we do not ask from Thee

A mighty conquerer with mail-clad horde.

Far better help Jeanne’s prayer can gain than he!

One martyr doth outshine all heroes, Lord!

Jeanne is Thy glorious handiwork alone;

A heart of fire, a soldier’s soul of steel,

Thou gavest to Thine handmaid, all Thine own,

With lily and laurel crowned, for woe or weal.

Beside her flock she heard the high command, —

Voices from heaven called her to the fray;

So she left all, to save her fatherland;

Conquered by her, the foe fled far away.

To martial hosts she brought God’s saving grace;

Her eyes like heaven, her words like burning flame,

Her holiness like theirs who see God’s Face.

Bowed sinful souls in penitence and shame.

(O marvel ne’er before in history told!)

A kingdom’s crown and glory all undone,

From the strong grasp of the invaders bold,

By a young maiden’s feeble arm are won.

Not thy great victories, O Jeanne so blest!

Thy countrymen to celebrate are come;

But thy true glories here they would attest,

Thy purity, thy love, thy martyrdom.

Though she saved France, hers was yet loftier grace,

The gift Christ gave to those who loved Him best,

Beside His cross to have the nearest place,

He gave to Jeanne, before He gave her rest.

In that last torture of consuming fire

She heard her “voices” speak once more her name,

And left earth’s exile for her heart’s desire,

Angel of France! up that steep path of flame.

Daughter of God! deign now our voice to hear!

Descend to us with thy sweet heavenly glance!

Come, and convert the land to thee so dear!

A second time, a second time, save France!

By God’s great power

In thee displayed,

Save France! O come, save France,

Thou saintly warrior-maid!

Glorious’ O thou strong child of God! wast thou,

When English hosts to meet thee did not dare;

Yet, in thy father’s fields, — remember now, —

Once weak and tender lambs were in thy care.

Of all the weak

Be the defence!

In hearts of children meek,

Preserve their innocence!

Sweet martyr! keep our convents in thy care!

Our virgins are thy sisters, each thine own,

And like to thine the object of their prayer, ­—

To see God reign in every heart alone.

This their desire,­

All souls to save.

Now let them share thy fire,

Apostle, martyr brave!

When holy Church shall give thee crown and palm,

How swiftly every fear in us will faint!

Then can we sing in loud afid rapturous psalm,

To Jeanne, our virgin, martyr, warrior-saint: —

God grants us hope

Through thee today!

Saint Jeanne, Saint Jeanne of France,

Pray for thy country, pray!


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