Above the starry spheres,
To where He was before,
Christ had gone up, the Father’s gift
Upon the Church to pour.

At length had fully come,
On mystic circle borne
Of seven times seven revolving days,
The Pentecostal morn.

When, as the Apostles knelt
At the third hour in prayer,
A sudden rushing sound proclaimed
That God Himself was there.

Forthwith a tongue of fire
Is seen on every brow,
Each heart receives the Father’s light,
The Word’s enkindling glow.

The Ho­ly Ghost on all
Is mightily outpoured,
Who straight in divers tongues declare
The wonders of the Lord.

While strangers of all climes
Flock round from far and near,
And their own tongue, wherever born,
All with amazement hear.

But Judah, faithless still,
Denies the hand divine;
And, mocking, jeers the saints of Christ
As full of new made wine.

Till Peter, in the midst,
By Joel’s ancient word,
Rebukes their unbelief, and wins
Three thousand to the Lord.

The Father and the Son
And Spirit we adore,
O may the Spirit’s gifts be poured
On us forevermore.