Christ, in high­est Heav’n en­thron­èd,
Equal of the Fa­ther’s might,
By pure spi­rits, trem­bling, own­èd,
God of God, and Light of Light,
Thee ’mid ang­el hosts we sing,
Thee their mak­er and their king.

All who circ­ling round adore Thee,
All who bow be­fore Thy throne,
Burn with flam­ing zeal be­fore Thee,
Thy be­hests to car­ry down;
To and fro, ’twixt earth and Heav’n,
Speed they each on er­rands giv­en.

First of all those le­gions glo­ri­ous,
Michael waves his sword of flame,
Who of old in war vic­to­ri­ous
Did the dra­gon’s fierce­ness tame;
Who with might in­vin­ci­ble
Thrust the re­bel down to hell.

Strong to aid the sick and dy­ing,
Called from Heav’n they swift­ly fly,
Grace di­vine and strength sup­ply­ing
In their mor­tal ago­ny:
Souls re­leased from bond­age here
Safe to pa­ra­dise they bear.

To the Fa­ther praise be giv­en
By the un­fall­en an­gel host,
Who in His great war have striv­en
With the le­gions of the lost;
Equal praise in high­est Heav’n
To the Son and Ho­ly Ghost.