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Hymns

St Ambrose of Milan, tr. Copeland, 1848

Chapter 1

The Lord’s Day. At Lauds. Cock-crowing. In Winter.

Maker of all, Eternal King,
Who day and night about dost bring,
Who, weary mortals to relieve,
Dost in their times the seasons give;

To darkling travellers guiding Light,
Who mark’st the watches night by night;
Now the shrill cock proclaims the day,
And calls the sun’s awakening ray;

Rous’d at the note, the morning star
Heaven’s dusky veil uplifts afar;
Night’s vagrant bands no longer roam,
But from their dark ways hie them home.

Now the cheer’d sailor’s fears are o’er,
Now the still’d waters rage no more.
Lo, e’en the very Church’s Rock
Melts at the crowing of the cock.

Oh, let us then like men arise;
The cock rebukes our slumbering eyes;
Bestirs, who still in sleep would lie,
And shames, who would their Lord deny;

Revives once more hope’s fading fires,
Through the sick frame new health inspires,
Sheathes the wild robber’s weapon dark,
Lights in the fall’n faith’s dying spark.

Look on us, Jesu, as we fall,
And with that look our souls recall;
If Thou but look, our stains are gone,
And with due tears our pardon won.

Shed through our hearts Thy piercing ray,
Our souls’ dull slumber drive away;
Thy Name be first on every tongue,
To Thee our earliest praises sung.

To God the Father in the height,
And to the Son, True Light of Light,
And Holy Ghost all glory be
Now, and through all eternity.