Through a belief in the threeness,
Through a confession of the oneness
Of the Creator of Creation.

MORNING HYMN

GREGORY THE GREAT, c. 600 A.D.

Translated by Edward Caswall

Lo, fainter now lie spread the shades of night,
And upward spread the trembling gleams of morn;
Suppliant we bend before the Lord of Light,
And pray at early dawn,

That his sweet charity may all our sin
Forgive, and make our miseries to cease;
May grant us health, grant us the gift divine
Of everlasting peace.

Father Supreme, this grace on us confer;
And Thou, O son, by an eternal birth!
With Thee, coequal spirit comforter!
Whose glory fills the earth.

A HYMN

THE VENERABLE BEDE, 735 A.D.

Translated by Elizabeth Charles

A hymn of glory let us sing;

New songs throughout the world shall ring;
By a new way none ever trod

Christ mounteth to the throne of God.

The apostles on the mountain stand,—
The mystic mount, in Holy Land;

They with the virgin mother, see
Jesus ascend in majesty.

The angels say to the eleven:
"Why stand ye gazing into heaven?
This is the Savior, this is He!
Jesus hath triumphed gloriously!"

They said the Lord should come again,
As these beheld him rising then,
Calm soaring through the radiant sky,
Mounting its dazzling summits high.

May our affections thither tend,
And thither constantly ascend,

Where, seated on the Father's throne,
Thee reigning in the heavens we own!

Be thou our present joy, Oh Lord!
Who wilt be ever our reward;
And, as the countless ages flee,
May all our glory be in Thee!

THE SOUL'S BITTER CRY

TAMIL SAIVITE SAINTS, Between 600 and 800 A.D.

In right I have no power to live,
Day after day I'm stained with sin;
I read, but do not understand;
I hold Thee not my heart within.

O light, O flame, O first of all,

I wandered far that I might see,
Athihai Virattanam's Lord,

Thy flower-like feet of purity.

Daily I'm sunk in worldly sin;
Naught know I as I ought to know;
Absorbed in vice as 'twere my kin,
I see no path in which to go.

O Thou with throat one darkling gem,

Gracious, such grace to me accord,
That I may see Thy beauteous feet,
Athihai Virattanam's Lord.

My fickle heart one love forsakes,
And forthwith to some other clings;
Swiftly to some one thing it sways,
And e'en as swiftly backward swings.
O Thou with crescent in Thy hair,
Athihai Virattanam's Lord,
Fixed at Thy feet henceforth I lie,
For Thou hast broken my soul's cord.

The bond of lust I cannot break;
Desire's fierce torture will not die;
My Soul I cannot stab awake

To scan my flesh with seeing eye.
I bear upon me load of deeds,

Load such as I can ne'er lay down.
Athihai Virattanam's Lord,

Weary of joyless life I've grown.

VENI CREATOR SPIRITUS

Attributed to CHARLEMAGNE, 800 A.D.

Translated by Dryden

Creator Spirit, by whose aid

The world's foundations first were laid,

Come, visit every pious mind,

Come, pour thy joys on humankind;

From sin and sorrow set us free,
And make us tempted worthy thee.

O source of uncreated light,
The Father's promised Paraclete;
Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire,

Our hearts with heavenly love inspire;
Come, and thy sacred unction bring,
To sanctify us while we sing.

Plenteous grace, descend from high,
Rich in thy seven-fold energy!
Thou strength of his Almighty hand,
Whose power does heaven and earth command;
Proceeding Spirit, our defence,

Who dost the gift of tongues dispense,
And crownedst thy gift with eloquence!

Refine and purge our earthly parts:
But, oh, inflame and fire our hearts:
Our frailties help, our vice control;
Submit the senses to the soul;
And when rebellious they are grown,
Then lay thy hand and hold them down.

Chase from our minds the infernal foe,
And peace, the fruit of love, bestow;
And, lest our feet should step astray,
Protect and guide us on the way.

Make us eternal truths receive,
And practice all that we believe:
Give us thyself that we may see
Thy Father and the Son by thee.

Immortal honor, endless fame,
Attend the Almighty Father's name:
The Savior Son be glorified,
Who for lost man's redemption died:
And equal adoration be,

Eternal Paraclete, to thee!

THE FINISHED COURSE

ST. JOSEPH OF THE STUDIUM, 850 A.D.

Translated by J. R. Neale

Safe home, safe home in port;
Strained cordage, shattered deck,
Torn sails, provisions short,
And only not a wreck;

But oh, the joy, upon the shore
To tell our voyage perils o'er!

The prize, the prize secure!
The wrestler nearly fell;
Bore all he could endure

And bore not always well;

But he may smile at troubles gone Who sets the victor's garland on.

No more the foe can harm;

No more, of leaguered camp,

And cry of night alarm,

And need of ready lamp;
And yet how nearly he had failed!

How nearly had the foe prevailed!

The lamb is in the fold,

In perfect safety planned;

The lion once had hold,

And thought to make an end,

But one came by with wounded side, And for the sheep the shepherd died.

The Exile is at home;

O nights and days of tears!

O longing not to roam!

O sins and doubts and fears!

What matters now? O joyful day! The king hath wiped all tears away!