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Lauds for Saints.
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436

Lauds for Saints.


437

Hymn XXXVII.

[Wake all my hopes, lift up your eys]

Wake all my hopes, lift up your eys,
And crown your heads with mirth:
See how they shine beyond the skys,
Who once dwelt on our earth.

438

Peace busy thoughts, away vain cares,
That clog us here below:
Let us go up above the Sphears,
And to each order bow.
Hail glorious Angels Heirs of light,
The high-born Sons of fire;
Whose heats burn chast, whose flames shine bright;
All joy, yet all desire.
Hail holy Saints, who long in hope,
Long in the shadow sate;
Til our victorious Lord set ope
Heav'ns everlasting gate.
Hail great Apostles of the Lamb,
Who brought that early Ray,
Which from our Sun reflected came,
And made our first fair day.
Hail generous Martyrs, whose strong harts
Bravely rejoyc't to prove,
How weak, pale death, are all thy darts,
Compar'd to those of love.
Hail Blessed Confessors, who dy'd
A death, too, love did give;
While your own flesh You crucify'd,
To make your spirit live.

439

Hail beauteous Virgins whose chast vows
Renounc't all fond desires;
Who wisely chose your Lord for Spouse,
And burnt with his pure fires.
Hail all you happy Spirits above,
Who make that glorious ring
About the sparkling Throne of love,
And there for ever sing.
Hail, and among your Crowns of praise,
Present this litle wreath;
Which while your lofty Notes you raise,
We humbly sing beneath.
All glory to the sacred Three,
One ever-living Lord:
As at the first, stil may he be
Belov'd, obey'd, ador'd.