Wake, all my hopes, lift up your eyes,

And crown your heads with mirth;

See how they shine beyond the skies,

Who once dwelt on our earth!

Peace, busy thoughts, away, vain cares,

That clog us here below;

Let us go up above the spheres,

And to each Order bow.

Hail, glorious Angels, Heirs of Light,

The high-born sons of Fire!

Whose hearts burn chaste, whose flames shine bright;

All joy, yet all desire.

Hail, holy Saints, who long in hope,

Long in the shadow sate,

Till our victorious LORD set ope

Heaven's 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 hearts

Bravely rejoiced to prove,

How weak, pale Death, are all thy darts,

Compared to those of Love.

Hail, blesséd Confessors, who died

A death too, Love did give;

Whilst your own flesh ye crucified,

To make your Spirit live.

Hail, beauteous Virgins, whose chaste vows

Renounced all fond desires:

Who wisely chose your LORD for Spouse,

And burn'd with His pure fires.

Hail, all ye 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 little 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, still may He be

Beloved, obey'd, adored,