1 O Monica, blest mother,
A well of holy tears;
For thy dear son, Augustine,
You shed for many years.
That he might learn the faith
that the Lord’s Apostles taught,
But far from Afric’s coast,
strange Philosophies he sought.
2 But Jesus, Word Incarnate
Revealed to him the Truth;
Augustine, thus converted,
Forsook his wayward youth.
Renouncing Satan’s cunning,
Prevailed he in that hour;
And at the hands of Ambrose
Received baptism’s pow’r.
3 Returned to his own homeland,
Assumed he Hippo’s see;
Staunch champion of the faith,
He fought each heresy.
He taught the Church is holy,
Though sinners do abound;
That in gifts sacramental
Is true grace to be found.
4 Augustine, faithful bishop;
Confessor to the end,
Inflame our hearts with passion
For Jesus, Lord and Friend.
Augustine, holy doctor,
Thou son of Afric’s sod,
Help us to reach the gates of
The City of our God.
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