Full in the panting heart of Rome,
Beneath th'apostles crowning dome,
From pilgrims' lips that kiss the ground,
Breathes in all tongues one only sound:
"God bless our Pope; God bless our Pope;
God bless our Pope: God bless our Pope,
The great, the good."

The golden roof, the marble walls,
The Vatican's majestic halls,
The note redoubles, till it fills
With echoes sweet the seven hills:
"God bless our Pope; God bless our Pope;
God bless our Pope: God bless our Pope,
The great, the good."

Then surging through each hallowed gate.
Where martyrs glory, in peace, wait,
It sweeps beyond the solemn plain,
Peals over Alps, across the main.
"God bless our Pope; God bless our Pope;
God bless our Pope: God bless our Pope,
The great, the good."

From torrid south to frozen north,
That wave harmonious stretches forth,
Yet strikes no chord more true to Rome s,
Than rings within our hearts and homes:
"God bless our Pope; God bless our Pope;
God bless our Pope: God bless our Pope,
The great, the good."