Be thou, the guardian of thy native land,
And to all Christian nations grant repose
From din of arms, and every hostile band –
From all our borders drive away our foes.
On thee our hopes are built, as on a tower;
Receive the homage we now humbly pay,
The vows which Rome accomplishes this hour,
With pious rites, and canticles’ sweet lay.
Keep far from us all dangerous delight,
O God, who comfortest thy Martyrs’ pain;
One God in Persons Three, bestow thy light
Wherewith thou makest strong thy Martyrs slain. Amen.