From the Far Blazing Gate of Morn

From the far blaz­ing gate of morn

To earth’s re­mot­est shore

Let ev­ery tongue con­fess to Him

Whom ho­ly Mary bore.

Lo! the great Mak­er of the world

Lord of eter­nal years

To save His crea­tures

veiled be­neath

A crea­ture’s form ap­pears.

A spot­less maid­en’s vir­gin breast

With heav’n­ly grace He fills;

In her pure womb He is con­ceived

And there in sec­ret dwells.

That bo­som

chas­ti­ty’s sweet home

Becomes

oh

blest re­ward!

The shrine of Heav’n’s im­mor­tal king

The tem­ple of the Lord.

And Ma­ry bears the Babe

fore­told

By an arch­an­gel’s voice;

Whose pre­sence made the Bap­tist leap

And in the womb re­joice.

A man­ger scant­ly strewn with hay

Becomes th’Eter­nal’s bed;

And He

who feeds each small­est bird

Himself with milk is fed.

Straightway with joy the heav’ns are filled

The hosts an­gel­ic sing;

And shep­herds hast­en to ad­ore

Their shep­herd and their king.

Praise to the Fa­ther! praise to Thee

Thou vir­gin’s ho­ly Son!

Praise to the Spir­it Pa­ra­clete

While end­less ag­es run.