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Hymns

St Ambrose of Milan, tr. Copeland, 1848

Chapter 11

Epiphany.

Most Highest, Who dost kindle bright
Yon starry orbs of sparkling light,
Peace, Life, and Light, and Truth, look down,
Jesu, from Heaven Thy suppliants own.

Whether this day, as twice of old,
The streams of Jordan backward roll’d,
When there Thy mystic Presence stood
To hallow Thy Baptismal flood.

Or in the sky Thy glittering star
Thy Virgin-Birth proclaim’d afar,
And on this morn the sages led
To worship at Thy manger bed.

Or in the urns with water fill’d
Thy power the luscious wine distill’d,
And he that bare the water knew
Whence sprang the draughts he never drew.

Beheld the waves with crimson dyed,
Tranc’d into wine the crystal tide,
The very element aghast
Into another nature pass’d.

Thus when Thy hand five thousand fed
With those five loaves of broken bread,
E’en in the lips of them that ate
Thou didst the growing meal create.

By its own waste th’ exhaustless store
Increas’d and multiplied the more,
Nor wonder ye, such sight who view,
These springs should flow exhaustless too.

Bread through the hands that break it pours,
Streams out like Heaven’s spontaneous showers,
Fragments unbroke, untouch’d supplies
Around them like the waters rise.