Pressi malorum pondere

All ye who groan, beneath
A load of ills oppress’d!
Intreat St. Paul, and he will pray
The Lord to give you rest.

O Victim, dear to Heaven!
O Paul, thou Teacher true!
Thou love and joy of Christendom!
To thee for help we sue.

Pierc’d by the flame of love,
Descending from on high;
’Twas thine to preach the Faith, which once
Thou soughtest to destroy.

Nor toil, nor threaten’d death,
Nor tempest, scourge, or chain,
Could from th’ Assembly of the Saints
Thy loving heart detain.

Oh, by that quenchless love
Which burnt in thee of yore!
Take pity on our miseries;
Our fainting hope restore.

True Champion of the Lord!
Crush thou the schemes of Hell;
And with adoring multitudes
The sacred temples fill.

Through thy prevailing prayer,
May Charity abound;
Sweet Charity, which knows no ill,
Which nothing can confound.

To earth’s remotest shores,
May one same Faith extend;
And thy epistles through all climes
Their blessed perfume send.

Grant us the will and power
To serve Thee, God of might!
Lest wav’ring still, and unprepar’d,
We sink in depths of night.

Praise to the Father be;
Praise to the Son who rose;
Praise to the Spirit Paraclete;
While age on ages flows.