By T. Lawrason Riggs

Near the rose-leaves flecked with red
Thousands kneel at Francis' fane;
Beaupré's blessed Anne has led
Throngs to seek her help in pain;
Asian Goa's dusky train
Swarm round Xavier's coffin-throne;
Ye who shrineless still remain,
Pray for us, ye saints unknown!

Ye who, though your sorrows bled
Life-long, could your trust maintain;
Ye whose humble solace sped
Trodden souls, anew to strain--
By your lives, that scribes disdain,
By your graves, which God alone
Watches, by your dearth of gain,
Pray for us, ye saints unknown!

Perfect crowns adorn each head,
Gold without an earthly grain;
Seeking you, we fear to tread
Holy ground with feet profane.
Yet, oh help us, 'gainst our bane,
Pride, our pampered god of stone!
Knew ye not applause is vain?--
Pray for us, ye saints unknown!

Envoi:

Saints we love yet name not,
To receive our homage prone;
That to know you we attain,
Pray for us, ye saints unknown!

Source: The Catholic World, November, 1912.