Hark! the clear voice, whose thrill­ing tone
Doth rend the gloom, and rout:
Be gone, vain dreams, far hence be gone;
From Heav’n the Christ shines out.

Rise now the slug­gard mind, out­worn
And soiled and sore that lay:
Now beams the star, the star new-born,
To chase all plagues away.

The Lamb is sent us from above,
To loos­en all our debt;
Then sing we all of Christ’s great love
Through tears our tones that wet.

That when He next shines glo­ri­ous,
While glooms the world de­face,
Not for sins He pun­ish us,
But with His love em­brace.

Praise, honor, might and glo­ry meet
To God the Sire and Son,
And to the Ho­ly Pa­ra­clete,
While end­less ag­es run.