Jesu, the grow­ing work is Thine,
And who shall hin­der its suc­cess?
In vain the ali­en ar­mies join
Thy glo­ri­ous Gos­pel to sup­press,
And vow, with Sa­tan’s aid, to o’er­throw,
The work Thy grace re­vives be­low.

The wa­ry world, as Ju­li­an wise,
Wise with the wis­dom from be­neath,
A while its mild­er mal­ice tries,
And lets these mad en­thu­si­asts breathe,
Breathe to in­fect their pur­est air,
And spread the plague of vir­tue there.

Wondering the calm des­pis­ers stand,
And dream that they the res­pite give.
Restrained by Thine o’er­rul­ing hand,
They kind­ly suf­fer us to live,
Live to defy their mas­ter’s frown,
And turn his king­dom up­side down.

Still the old dra­gon bites his chain,
Not yet com­mis­sioned from on high;
Rage the fierce Pha­ri­sees in vain;
Away with them, the zea­lots cry,
And hoa­ry Cai­aphas ex­claims,
And Bon­ner dooms us to the flames.

But our great God, who reigns on high,
Shall laugh their haugh­ty rage to scorn,
Scatter their ev­il with His eye,
Or to His praise their fierce­ness turn;
While all their ef­forts to re­move
His Church, shall stab­lish her in love.

Yes, Lord, Thy pro­mise-word is true,
Our sac­red hairs are num­bered all;
Though earth and hell our lives pur­sue,
Without Thy leave we can­not fall;
And if Thou slack the mur­der­er’s chain,
We suf­fer but with Thee to reign.

Our suf­fer­ings shall ad­vance Thy cause,
And blunt the per­se­cut­or’s sword,
Dispread the vic­to­ry of Thy cross,
And glo­ri­fy our con­quer­ing Lord.
Evil shall work for Si­on’s good:
Its seed is still the mar­tyr’s blood.